


The Slave and the Mage: Bought

by ManiacsofTamriel



Series: The Slave and the Mage [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dwemer Ruins, Elder Scrolls - Freeform, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Khajiit - Freeform, Mage, Morrowind, Orc, Skyrim - Freeform, Slavery, Vvardenfell, bandits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 22:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 116,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12640533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManiacsofTamriel/pseuds/ManiacsofTamriel
Summary: An Orcish mage buys a Khajiit slave for her expedition, little realizing that he will entangle her in a life of violence and intrigue out of his past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Xy here, one half of Maniacs of Tamriel with my esteemed partner IsaacTheKhajiit. This was our first roleplay together on Skype. This is why it’s so long; and the fact that it’s so long stopped either of us from making it an early editing priority. Later we started actually diagramming out plots and trying to plan the characters’ personal arcs, which both increased the difficulty of the RP and produced more coherent stories. This story has more gamelike than canonlike mechanics with regard to how spells work and how available potions are to the average person; we changed some of that in later collaborations, too.
> 
> Still, we had fun, the characters’ adventures were exciting, and I hope this somewhat abridged version (by over a hundred pages in Google Docs, believe it or not) will bring enjoyment to all of you as well. If anyone actually reads it maybe we’ll put up an epilogue with the rest of it, who knows.
> 
> There are a couple of explicit sex scenes in this story, both confined to Chapter Twenty-Eight. We thought they were important to include because of their place in character development, but if you skip that chapter you won’t miss any other big plot events, for those not wishing to read this sort of material. There is a brief reference to sex in Chapter Forty-Six, but it’s not descriptive, and a curtain is discreetly drawn.
> 
> Thank you for giving our story a look, and on with the show!

The sun was rising over Tel Aruhn, flaring brightly behind the high tower with its riot of walkways carved into the great vines.  The slaves that were intended for display were just being herded out into the outdoor cages: a beautiful Argonian maid with red and blue scale and big, beautiful red eyes; a delicate Bosmer girl with trembling rosebud lips; a handsome Orc in a loincloth, every inch rippling with muscle, coup knot immaculate; and a Khajiit with an unusual pattern of black and white spots, silky and sought-after.  These were those who would fetch the highest price, luring customers who would ultimately buy cheaper from the less glamorous underground holding cells.  Sharp-eyed Dunmer slave-masters kept a sharp eye out to ensure nobody tried to touch the merchandise.

 

The early crowd was thin, only the most serious buyers arriving at this uncomfortable hour.  The orcish mage in her gray and green robes stood out among a group of mostly Dunmer and the odd Breton or Imperial.  She was not especially tall for her species, but she did have the traditional sturdy, buxom look that often defined Orcish and Nord women.  Her tusks were thin and short, polished to a high gloss, and the yellow eyes were bright and alert, darting here and there as she looked the market over.  She wore her hair in a fat braid hanging down one shoulder in front of her hood.

 

The mage gave only a cursory glance to the cages outside, snorting derisively, and jangled the purse at her hip as she marched through the huge round door that led to the underground market.

 

Here it was noisier.  Some of these slaves had not yet accepted their fate or their value as readily as those outside.  There was weeping, entreaty, cries as some were beaten, swearing from masters who had not yet proven their mastery.  Some of the more valuable and cooperative were in the individual display cages that were carved into the walls.  More were chained in rows, standing along the broad walkway.

 

The orc looked them over, lips pursed around her little tusks, and tugged at a ragged green ear as she looked around for a bargain.

 

The wailing of the other slaves hadn't ceased for a moment since he'd arrived.  Ra'kesh turned fitfully in his cell in a futile attempt to get comfortable.  His body longed for a deep, restful sleep, but he probably couldn't have gotten any even in a quiet place.  There was only a thin layer of dirty straw thrown onto the floor of his cage, and Ra'kesh was beginning to ache from laying on the uncomfortable surface.  He shifted to his knees and put his hands on the bars, looking out at the potential buyers as they filtered past.

 

Ra'kesh was not what one would call a high value slave.  His was thin and wiry, but the severity of his weight loss was concealed by a thick coat of matted tawny fur which would have made him appear even larger in better health.  He was tall even for a Cathay.  This, coupled with the old scar across the bridge of his nose, gave him an intimidating appearance.  Torn slave rags clung to his filthy body.  He'd been hosed down yesterday, but it wasn't a thorough cleaning.  His undercoat was still uncomfortably damp.

 

Try as he might, Ra'kesh could not quell the slight tremor which ran down his arms and caused his hands to quiver slightly even as he gripped the bars.  The slavers would probably conceal his skooma addiction on his record in order to get a higher price, but buyers would know.  And he wasn't getting out of here unless he looked fit enough to work.

 

"Oh sera, sera!" called a Dunmer lady from beside one of the cells, waving a switch ornamented with colorful ribbons.  She wore practical homespuns dyed in rich blues and purples.  "We make a special deal for you today, just for our friend from the Mages Guild!"

 

The orc snorted - it was not hard to deduce that a non-Dunmer mage in Telvanni territory might be a Guild member - but she moved closer, eyeing the Khajiit in the small cell.

 

"Oh you will, will you? What sort of deal?"

 

"Very special, very nice, just look at this handsome Khajiit.  Raffish fellow, isn't he, but strong, very strong.  Look at these arms.  Look at these muscles." She tapped his arm with the switch, staying well back out of reach.

 

Ra'kesh's upper lip raised in a snarl at being touched, but he quickly forced an impassive mask over his face.  His sharp golden eyes glanced over the Orc, assessing her.  An outlander mage would have sparked fear in a lesser Khajiit- they were all rumored as being necromancers, and they bought the cheapest slaves possible to use for experimentation.  But Ra'kesh feared no man, mer or beast.  He flicked his black-tipped ears forward, staring evenly at the Orc woman.

 

The Dunmer gave him a sharp look - he knew well that would presage a beating later if he tried to bite or claw her for use of the switch.

 

"He looks like he hasn't eaten in two weeks, woman," said the orc, raising a black brow.  "I wouldn't give you two gold for him."

 

"B'vek, two gold! Nonsense, sera, nonsense.  He came to us from a bad master.  Give him a good feed and a wash and he'll be worth the moons.  You'll hardly have to beat him at all.  But then, a lady like yourself no doubt can make the worst slave behave with the power of your spells.  Surely such a clever slave as our Ra'kesh will be gentle as a lamb for you.  Fifty gold, sera, fifty gold and his clothes included."

 

"His clothes aren't worth a gram of scuttle.  Thirty-five at the most.  Show me his papers."

 

"Thirty-five! Ah, you will reduce an honest woman to poverty," said the Dunmer happily.  She had been trying to get rid of Ra'kesh for days.  She handed over the short record.  The orc scanned it with a practiced eye.

 

Ra'kesh wondered what kind of drivel was in that report.  He'd been picked up in a skooma den and sentenced to slavery for breaking the law just two weeks ago, but the dealer was making it sound as if he had experience as a slave.  Was his new skillset in farmwork or heavy labour, he wondered?

 

His left arm twitched violently; he rubbed it vigorously with his other hand, as if scratching an itch.  There was still time for the Orc to back out before the papers had been signed and the gold exchanged.

 

"Farming saltrice...  farming ash-yam...  oh, come on." The orc glanced incredulously at the tall and severely underweight Khajiit now rubbing at his spasmodically twitching arm.  "He's got to survive skooma withdrawal before I can even have him carry my equipment.  It'll delay my expedition by at least a week.  Thirty-five is generous.  Is this even his real age? He doesn't look nineteen."

 

"We don't sell skooma addicts here, Madam, and you insult me by suggesting it," declared the Dunmer, in a tone of high offense.  "But I'll throw in his slave bracers for free, good solid enchantment, keep him fifty yards from the key-holder or he'll pass out until you wake him up, guaranteed.  No damage, no escaping and no fuss."

 

"Pfft.  Even I could enchant a simple proximity fatigue drain for less than that.  Take your money and get him out, woman, and spare me from your drivel." She detached a small bag from her belt and held it out by her fingertips.  Her nails were cut very short, and the fingertips were stained from alchemy.

 

"You won't be sorry, Ma'am!" the Dunmer promised cheerfully as she accepted the proffered purse and deftly squirreled it away in the heavy satchel at her hip.  "Sign right here," she continued, producing a parchment and quill and offering them to the orc.

 

The orc read the agreement, grunting once in derision.  "Fine.  There, Kala gra-Nend, my hand and sign." She signed in a fine hand, rolled the parchment tightly, and handed it back.  The Dunmer presented her with a rough iron key, bowing, and hurried to unlock the cell door.

 

"All right, Ra'kesh, get out of there and go with the nice mage lady.  Today is your lucky day, you scoundrel."

 

Ra'kesh used the bars to haul himself to his feet as the door swung open.  He wavered slightly, but kept his balance.  He smiled sweetly at the Dunmer woman and, carefully stepping forward out of the cell, spit on the ground in front of her feet.  Shouts filled the already noisy air as some of his cell neighbors rattled their cages and cursed him.

 

"Enjoy being stabbed in the back and robbed of all you're worth," an old Redguard with a salt and pepper beard said from down the row.  He chuckled to himself from the back of his cell.

 

"Enjoy wasting away like a rat in the sewer, old bastard," Ra'kesh snarled back.  His eyes darted back to Kala, searching her face for any clue as to what kind of master she might be.

 

The Dunmer pursed her lips, dark blue-gray brow furrowed, and raised the switch.  A green hand caught at her arm.

 

“That will be quite enough of that,” said Kala.  “You've got yours.” She allowed the slave master to jerk her hand loose, swearing in her native tongue, then turned her shoulder to the Dunmer as she looked the Khajiit over in turn.  The orcish sense of smell is much poorer than a Khajiit or Argonian's, but still her flat nostrils flared at the smell of him.   _ First a wash-up, then a meal, then we'll see about getting him through the next couple of days.   _ She still had more time than money, all her funds sunk into her needs for the expedition.  She needed a strong arm at a low price, and freemen were expensive to hire on a hazardous journey.  She would just have to see what she could make of him.

Orsinium was a nation of free men.  She had been raised to believe that, though her parents had been forced to come here when she was quite small.  The idea of buying a slave was repugnant, this loud and odorous market still more so.   _ At least he'll be better off with me than dying in a skooma den.  I can always give him his freedom if we survive. _

“Come,” she said, holding out her hand to the Khajiit.  “My mark is in Balmora.  I assure you it will be a much shorter trip there than it was here.”

Ra'kesh looked at the offered hand suspiciously and flicked his ears to the side.  It took him a moment to realize that she was referring to magickal teleportation.  He had always been too poor to afford such extravagant means of travel, and had never known anyone with the ability to do it themselves.

Reluctantly, he placed his trembling hand in the orc's without a word, mentally bracing himself.  Kala's casting was minimalist, a small gesture of her free hand, and the slave market dissolved around them to re-form into the main downstairs room in the house in Balmora's eastern Labor Town.    Ra'kesh managed to grin at the slave seller just as lights flashed before his eyes and the sounds and scents of mortal suffering faded from his senses.

Through the green glass window, a distorted view of the cobbled street and the river could be seen.  During her parents' residence here, this had been a sitting room and kitchen, with couches and chairs and handmade quilts; they had moved to an estate outside Suran years before, rich from the proceeds of their work, ready to retire to a much smaller smithy and a much larger home.  The deed of this little house had been their gift when she embarked upon her career in magery.  They had not understood - “Is this work for a good strong girl, all this faffing about with books and papers?” - but she was still their daughter; and they had two older sons at the forge to comfort them.

Now the hearth and the cutting table were still there, but the room was a laboratory, walls lined with cupboards, shelves and tables.  A table in the corner held a shelf of jars labeled with alchemy ingredients, and in front of them an expensive and enchantment-reinforced set of alchemy equipment, the mortar and calcinator blackened with long use.  Dwemer schematics decorated the walls, some ancient, some recent tracings made in charcoal or pencils.  A couple of half-filled knapsacks stood in a corner, a staff propped against the wall between them.  On the left side of the room a stairway ran up to a landing and a hallway, the small bathroom with its built-in pump and the two bedrooms.  In earlier years there had been partitions erected to divide up the children's room.  Now the master bedroom was fitted up for Kala's use and the old nursery was a guest room, neat and impersonal with its woolen coverlet and empty dresser.

She felt the Khajiit's hand shaking in hers in the moment before she released it, the enchanted bracer scuffing his matted fur.  She dropped the key to the slave bracers down her cleavage with her free hand as she went to the cupboard by the hearth.

Ra'kesh expected to feel uneasy, maybe something like seasickness after being teleported halfway across Vvardenfell.  He was surprised to find that he felt nothing, other than the general aches and sickness from withdrawal he had already been feeling all day.

“Sit down.  We'll see if you can eat while I run your bath, I think.  You will need your strength.  Potions cannot cure skooma withdrawal.  I'm afraid the pain will get worse before it gets better.”

As she spoke she rummaged in the cupboard and came up with a small slab of scuttle, a loaf of bread, and half a roast ash yam.  She hacked off a little blob of butter with a dull butter knife and brought all of it over to the cutting table, then went to get a fork from a drawer.  The table service was all earthenware, sturdy but not valuable; much less money had been spent on it than on the alchemy furniture.  She pulled out the one chair.

Ra'kesh took the offered seat without a word, bracing himself against the table and slowly lowering his body into the chair.  An unpleasant sensation shuddered through his body, like worms crawling inside his bones, but Ra'kesh tried his best not to show it on his face.

While Kala's back was turned preparing a plate, he allowed his eyes to roam over the furnishings in the room.  Everywhere he looked was something that would fetch a fine price.  Being a Hlaalu town, there must be plenty of buyers who wouldn't question the origin of a gentleman's goods.  He could almost taste the sweet skooma in his throat; he could feel heaviness in his limbs as his body filled to the brim with pure liquid ecstasy.  He licked his lips hungrily, staring at the alchemy supplies, yet looking past them entirely.

Rajhin had smiled on Ra'kesh today.  The house may as well have been an ebony mine.

“Just don't try to run while I'm setting up the bath,” Kala was saying.  “I don't fancy having to drag you in off the street.”

She turned to go upstairs to start the small boiler and run the pump.

The food put before him should have looked and smelled delicious.  Ra'kesh had no appetite, it all tasted like ash to him now.  But he knew well enough that he needed strength, and he was lucky to have real food and not the spoiled scraps he'd been thrown in Tel Aruhn.  He dutifully ate while his new Mistress moved about upstairs, although the smell of it - as well as the wide variety of alchemy ingredients in the room - was making him sick to his stomach.

Kala watched the fire rise inside the boiler, squinting at the coals, and gave it another small blast of magical fire for good measure.  Then she shut the door to the squat pot-bellied little thing and turned to check the bath for spiders.  It was a ceramic tub with four iron feet, big enough to sit in, not really big enough to lie full-length even for someone only five feet six like herself.

Then she hurried to check the sheets on the guest bed and dig out the old grooming set Dra'viji had left.  The old housekeeper had visited often, for a while, until she grew stiff and arthritic enough that she preferred to doze by the fire in the kitchen out in Suran instead.  She had never come back for these.  They were carved from kagouti horn, not luxuries, but better than the same article made from clay or soapstone.  There was a comb, a brush, and an undercoat rake.  Kala hurriedly pulled the gray hair from them and rinsed them from the pitcher by the bathroom sink.  Both the sink drain and the convenience with its wooden seat were basically just tubes traveling down to the sewer system.  There might well have been a risk of rats, if Balmora's rats had not been generally far too large to fit.

She laid out the grooming tools on the sink, set their leather roll-up case beside them, and went to hurriedly dig through the guest closet for some clothes of her eldest brother's.  He was not tall for an orc.  His things would hang loose on the thin frame of the Khajiit, but at least the man would be warm and covered and they could throw the noisome rags with which he had arrived out into the dustbin.  She hung the shirt, pants and vest on the hook on the back of the bathroom door.

The pump water came out warm on her second check, so she plugged the drain with its hard shalk-shell stopper and ran the bath.  It was hard to estimate Ra'kesh's exact mass under all that fur, she thought.  Hopefully he would not displace enough to cause an overflow with the tub half-full.  The sload soap was still in its dish on the side.

She hated to leave the bracers on him.  It would make washing harder, and she loathed the very idea of them.

_ A man should be free _ .  But she had only twenty gold left, and too much gear to carry it all herself, and be damned if she was going to ask her parents for one solitary drake, not at twenty-nine years of age and ten of magical experience.  She could not risk him running away.   _ It is less than certain that he isn't so deranged from withdrawal that he'll forget what they're for and try to steal something and make a break for it anyway.  I'd better make sure I still have enough fortifiers. _

She went down the stairs again, brushing off her wet hands on her outer robe.

"All right, it's ready.  How do you feel?"

"Oh, Ra'kesh feels like a young kitten in spring time," he answered dryly, pushing away the plate of half-eaten food.  He had forced down as much as he could, but the greasy texture of the scuttle was making him ill, and he found the dry bread hard to swallow.  Knitting his brows in mock confusion, he tilted his head slightly and brought a hand to his chin.

"Ra'kesh has questions too.  A silly mage wastes gold on worst slave.  Must be powerful, powerful mage indeed, to not fear Ra'kesh slit throat in her sleep." He grinned cheekily.  "Ra'kesh would never do, of course.  But Orc does not know stranger's intent." His tail lashed behind him as he spoke.  Now he waited to see if he had enraged Kala.  She had stopped the filthy Dunmer from striking him earlier; perhaps she would be a good owner.  But Ra'kesh was not a thing to be owned, and he would let the world know it.

Kala looked at the tail for a moment, then back at the Khajiit's face.  Then she folded her arms, hands inside her sleeves.

_ Of course.  How would you feel, if it was you? _

“I'm not a bad mage,” she said.  “But more importantly, if you're going to try and kill me in my sleep, it's better to find that out now, before we're out on Dagon Fel with just the cliff racers and the wandering Saints for company.  We will have a long way to travel together, you and I.”

Ra'kesh "hmphed" and looked away, but it was more of a growl.  Aside from irritation at the lack of a reaction, he felt a bit of panic.  Dagon Fel was very remote, with little to steal and little to buy.  It would be a disaster if he ended up so far North.

He placed his palms flat against the table and pushed himself to his feet.  He closed his eyes briefly, trying to will his body to behave.  But the little tremors continued, and there was nothing he could do about it.  He opened his eyes again, and moved towards the stairwell.

"Ra'kesh will wash now, as  _ Mistress _ wishes." He spat the word like venom right as he passed by Kala.  Then he carefully made his way up the stairs, refusing to steady himself against the wall.

He had the satisfaction of seeing her flinch, yellow eyes wide.  She turned to watch him up the stairs, looking stricken for just that moment before she managed to erase expression from her face.

_ Perhaps I should take him to the Temple.   _ And yet, she had heard there was little to nothing that they would do for a skooma addict.   _ No, here we are, stuck with each other. _

She ate the rest of his breakfast - wasting food was high on her mother's list of deadly sins - and washed up the plate.

_ But my twenty gold might buy us some meat.  Khajiit have sharp teeth.  Maybe it will be easier for him to digest. _

She went to the front door and opened it to peer out.  The sun was well up now, and as expected, she could hear the neighbor's children playing on the roof.

"Bala?" she called.  "Do you want to earn a drake?"

A Dunmer child, clad in a dirty robe, black hair in several tiny braids, scampered down the stairs from the flat rooftop.  A boy of the same species with an unruly mop of red hair peered over the roof parapet.

"Course I do, Miss Kala."

"All right.  Take this and go buy me as much guar as it will get minus your drake.  Ask your mama first."

Bala ran over to push her way into her own house, and there was a muttered conversation.  Then she came back.

"Mama says yes.  May I have two drakes so I can buy a sweet for Vhajo too?"

"Yes, you may.  Run fast now.  It'll need to cook all day."

The child grinned and sprinted off up the street toward the market.  Kala went back inside to her jars and her alchemy apparati.  She should have time to brew one or two more potions of healing before she had to talk to either the child or the Khajiit again.

Entering the bathroom, Ra'kesh examined his surroundings and found the clothes and grooming tools Kala had left.  She was treating him like a valued guest in her home, not a slave.  An unpleasant mixture of emotions gripped him for a brief moment- shame at the way he had acted, anger that she must pity him.  Humiliation that he was in this position to begin with.  He raised a clawed hand, intending to smack the grooming kit to the floor as hard as he could, but he stopped before making contact.  He sighed and began peeling off the unwashed rags he'd been living in since the trial.

He slowly eased himself into the water and instantly felt better, if only slightly.  How long had it been since he had a warm bath? Years, maybe.  The pleasure from the warmth against his aching muscles was miniscule in comparison to the pleasure he could be experiencing, if only he had another drop of skooma.  Every sight, every sensation was so gray and dull when sober.  Ra'kesh stared into the water, watching the constant ripples from his trembling body, and wondered why he was such a loathsome person.  A bracer clinked against the side of the tub, drawing his attention.  He could just barely see his own reflection in its shiny surface- an ugly scarred face and cold eyes.  Perhaps this life was the fate he deserved.

The water began to grow cool.

Although filth had ceased to bother him, he worked at scrubbing his fur clean anyway.  The water turned a dingy brown as he worked.  When he stood out of the water, wet fur plastered to his body, Ra'kesh was a pitiful sight.  Although he was in his early 30s, his bony frame made him appear much older.  He quickly dried and groomed his fur.  He was disgusted by the sight of himself when he looked down and didn't want to see it longer than necessary.

More of his tawny fur was coming off with the comb than it should have.  He collected the fur and balled it up inside the slave rags to protect his pride, or what little of that he had left.

The clothes Kala had left stank of Orc.  Ra'kesh wasn't racist; he had known a few Orcs in his sailing days.  Good warriors, loyal friends, but dumber than mudcrabs and always emitting a strong, musky odor that took some getting used to.  Even the humans seemed to be aware of it.  But, anything was better than rags.  He solved the problem of the shirt being too big by tying it off at the side, although the vest still hung loose like a child in his father's clothes.

Ra'kesh stepped into the hallway and paused for a moment, ears twitching as he listened for movement below.  Faint clinking sounds told him that the Orc was busy doing something or other in the lab.  He probably had time, and if not, what was the difference? Nothing worse could happen to him now.

The beauty of Hlaalu style homes: no creaking wooden floors.  He still took care to move silently, and looked into both bedrooms, quickly identifying which one was the master.  Ra'kesh knew he had to pick something that was valuable, yet wouldn't be missed.  He noticed a box with a layer of dust on it.  Ironically, the most valuable items were usually the ones that were checked on least often.  He undid the latch with the tip of his claw, and gently lifted the lid by the side, to avoid disturbing the dust on top.  Unfortunately, the contents weren't all that valuable, but he didn't need much.  He ignored a necklace, which may have made slight noise in his clothes, and opted for an iron bracelet.  The material was not valuable, but it might be considered "exotic".

Kala had a display of plain rings, which he recognized as enchanted based on a faint shimmer.  They all looked the same to him; surely Kala would not miss one or two.  He took two from the top, and pocketed them opposite the bracelet so they wouldn't clink together.  Giving one last glance around the room and feeling satisfied with his choices, Ra'kesh gathered his old clothes from the bathroom and rejoined Kala downstairs.

The orc sat hunched over the alchemy table in the corner, gently pouring a top layer of blue liquid out of the retort and into a ceramic bottle.  A cork and a short iron rammer sat next to it on a plate.

"Just throw the rags in the dustbin," she said, without looking up from the delicate task.  "It's just outside the front door."

And there was, indeed, an untopped half-barrel outside the front door, shoved inside a crate to stifle the smell of the garbage.  There wasn't much in it.

Ra'kesh thought of making a smart remark about running away, but decided not to push his luck.  Now that he had something to sell, maybe he could build up some trust.  He padded over to the front door without a word, and winced when he threw it open.  The sunlight was brighter than he remembered, but the fresh air was divine.  The stink of the slave pens was finally out his nostrils.  His whiskers twitched as he tested the air, full of foreign and familiar scents.

Forgetting his task for a moment, he stood leaning against the doorframe and watched the foot traffic on the street.  He'd never been in Balmora before, but every city was the same after you'd seen enough of them.

Kala finished bottling the second potion and applied the rammer to the cork, glancing up curiously.  Ra'kesh had been in the doorway for a good minute or so, looking out at the street.  At least he looked better, fur smoother and softer now that it was clean; but it looked thin and sparse in places that the dirt had originally hidden.  Her brother's clothes were so large on him that he had had to tie off the shirt under the vest.

_ Either he has been more abused than his manners suggest, or he has been an addict for a long time. _

She poured the remaining contents of the retort into the refuse-bottle.  The less useful liquid residues would mix and react to form a particularly corrosive substance that she used to clean the convenience and the sinks.

Still, he ought to have better clothes.   _ Maybe I will see if I can make a few more of those Make-Me-Pretties Ra'Virr keeps pestering me for.  That ought to be worth a better shirt and pants, at least. _

After several moments Ra'kesh pitched the rags in the bin and shut the door behind him.  He sauntered back over the Kala at her table.

"Ra'kesh wonders, what sort of work is Mistress's? And what is there in Dagon Fel to interest anyone?" he asked cheerily, surprised to discover he did not have to force it.  He genuinely did feel better now that his fur was clean and he had gold (or as good as gold) in his pockets.

She looked up warily as his shadow fell across the table, then relaxed slightly as he spoke to her without apparent hostility.

"Alchemy is what puts food on my table.  I've had to take on one or two other jobs for the Guild to pay for my research.  It turns out there is very little demand for spelunking in Dwemer ruins." She got up to take the potion over to stuff into one of the two knapsacks in the corner.  "Dagon Fel is where I believe I will find the ruins of Drakan-Ka.  If we do find it, and it has not completely collapsed, it should contain a device called the Engine of Greater Difference."

Ra'kesh's eyes widened as soon as the word "Dwemer" was mentioned.  Everyone knew that much gold could be made smuggling the ancient artifacts, and the ruins in a remote place like Dagon Fel must be untouched!

"Yes...  Khajiit sees.." He thoughtfully stroked his furred chin.  "And when do Mistress and Ra'kesh depart on this noble expedition?"

Kala watched the Khajiit's expression shift with her eyes slightly narrow, brows lifted.  Lacking native telepathic abilities, she still suspected she was able to read the Khajiit's mind.  Still, if it convinced him to behave more cooperatively, that was all to the good.

"Within a week, I hope.  It depends on how fast we can build back your strength - "

Someone was pounding on the door at about Ra'kesh's waist level.  Kala waved him back and got up to go and open it.  Bala grinned up at her, holding a big saltrice-paper-wrapped bundle in her arms.

"They were having a two for one on lollies," she said happily.  "I got FOUR."

"Good girl.  Don't forget to share with your brother." She accepted the bundle of guar meat and gave the child a pat on the shoulder.

"Why is there a scary man in your house?" asked Bala, peering past Kala at the Khajiit.

Ra'kesh bristled at the insinuation that he was weak, even if it was true.  But the arrival of the Dunmer child interrupted his thoughts and the offense was forgotten, for now.

"What is scary about old Ra'kesh?" he asked with a mock pout, rubbing the palm of his hand over the top of the other to conceal that he was shaking again.  He smiled toothily, well aware that Khajiiti fangs could be scary to the other races who weren't used to it.  "Ra'kesh hopes Dunmer doesn't mean the old scar..  Ra'kesh got this as a kitten, from a Yajira Yalir..."

Bala squeaked at the sight of his teeth and ran for home, little feet going rapidly pit-a-pat up the stairs to the roof.

Kala shut the door and gave him another look.

"Good job.  You have succeeded in frightening a small child."

She carried the paper-wrapped bundle of guar meat over to the kitchen area - it smelled succulently of clean flesh - and laid it on the cutting table, then dug under the cupboard to haul out the biggest pot and the meat-knife.

"And what, exactly, is a Yajira Yalir?"

Ra'kesh sighed and took a seat at the dining table again, taking note that his plate from earlier had been disposed of.  What kind of a Mistress was this Orc, who cleaned up the dirty dishes of her slave and draws him a bath?! Ra'kesh couldn't believe his luck.  She was probably too trusting for her own good, and thus easy to manipulate.

"Ra'kesh did not mean to scare, it was merely a joke.  Yajira Yalir is old kitten tale, not true, but Khajiit tell kittens that if kittens do not behave, a trickster demon named Yajira Yalir will take the form of mother or father, and eat kittens in their sleep.  Harmless fun." He waved his hands in the air dismissively.  His tone of voice said that he was only a victim of cultural misunderstandings.  He did feel slightly guilty that the child had been scared so easily, but that was only because Dunmer children were too coddled.

"Harmless fun," Kala said, glancing at him sideways as she worked on chopping the meat and putting it into the pot.  She toyed with the thought of handing over the meat and the knife, but it was entirely possible he would cut himself given his shaking hands.

Ra'kesh sniffed the air, and licked his lips at the scent of fresh meat.  Another luxury he had not experienced in years.

"Surely Mistress does not intend to work all day while Ra'kesh lounges about? Any rumours of skooma addiction are greatly exaggerated.  Ra'kesh has had tremor from birth.  It is a natural infirmary some are born with." Even as he said it, it sounded like a joke.  He wasn't really sure if he was just talking to hear himself talk, or to convince Kala of anything.

"Well, you're certainly welcome to do your own dishes from now on,” she said.   “The wash bucket is just there.  Otherwise, I didn't buy you as a house servant, and I am used to doing things for myself.  I also urge you not to assume that I'm an idiot because I haven't resorted to beating you yet.  I know what skooma withdrawal looks like."

Ra'kesh winced, but found himself smiling in spite of himself.  Kala wasn't a pushover, and he could respect that.

"Idle hands are no good for Khajiit.  But, Ra'kesh supposes he will have his fill of work during this trip, no? What did Mistress say, we hunt 'Engine of Greatness'? What thing is this, and why does Mistress want?" He tried to keep the tone light, conversational.  A wave of nausea wracked his body; without thinking, he dug his claws into the soft wood of the table.  Ra'kesh gritted his teeth and waited for it to pass, hoping Kala would not turn to look at him until it did.

"The Engine of Greater Difference."

Kala poured a half-pitcher of water over the raw meat, followed by a sprinkling of salt, and went to set it on the stovetop.  A casual gesture started a fire in the oven's belly.  She went to wash her hands, the knife, and the cutting table.

"The records I've found are difficult to translate because they use some words that are not common in existing Dwemer documents," she said, and paused at the sound of wood splintering.  Ra'kesh sat clutching at the tabletop, teeth gritted.  She looked quickly away, continuing as if she had not seen.

"One way to translate what it does would be "changes any living thing into any other living thing." I'm not sure what the Dwemer would have wanted with that, practically speaking.  It's also possible that the words used mean "changes anything into a living thing."

Ra'kesh panted for several long moments, barely registering what Kala was talking about.  Eventually the sickness passed and he dislodged his nails from the table.  He smoothed down the fur of his arms, desperately needing something to occupy his hands.  His muscles twitched as if overloaded with energy that needed to be released.  Ra'kesh stood abruptly, the chair scraping jarringly against the floor as he did so.  After he was sure he could keep his balance, he began pacing the room, tail twitching behind him.

"Gods only know what these crazy elves were up to," he yammered on as he walked.  "Living suits of armor, strange machines.  Stupid, stupid.  No fresh air for Dwemer, only dusty halls.  Only dead, dark, silent halls."

He paused for a moment.  The room was blurry, the walls rippled and contracted around him.  It suddenly felt too stuffy.  The musty alchemy ingredients and all the dust was suffocating him.  He shook his head to clear it away.  Ra'kesh knew what came next.  He stumbled up the stairs and barely made it in time to retch up the contents of his stomach in the proper place.  He hung onto the seat for a long while, panting hard and just wishing he was dead.

Kala turned at the sudden scraping noise, watching the Khajiit pace.  With the nonsense he was loudly declaiming, it wasn't really a surprise when he ran for the stairs.  She stood up slowly, mulling her options.

_ Most potions won't help.  A jot of flin might, but I haven't been able to afford flin for ages, and I'm still broke. _

“Pity an addict,” she murmured.   _ Pity an addict and you waste your teardrops on the ocean. _

Well, that line of thinking got her exactly nowhere.  She filled a glass with water from the little pump by the sink and went upstairs to set it on the night stand in the guest room.  Then she turned back the bed – the sheets smelled of clean soap, always a strong reminder of home – and went to stand outside the bathroom door.  At what point should she decide he was unconscious and check to see if he really did need bodily healing?

Men were proud.  Khajiit were probably not different that way.  That made it more likely he would refuse what she was about to suggest, but she could only ask, couldn't she.

“Ra'kesh?”

"Khajiit is busy," he snarled.  He was irrationally angry at her for bothering him now, but his voice was too weak to properly convey the level of rage he felt.  The Orc may have disarmed Ra'kesh with her kindness, but she was still a limp-wristed scholar who'd probably been handed everything in life, and thought she could buy other people like animals.

Ra'kesh washed his mouth out with water from the pump.  He still felt like vomiting, but that wasn't going away anytime soon and he couldn't hang around in the bathroom all night.  After smoothing down his fur and composing himself, he opened the door to face Kala in the hallway.

"Ra'kesh is fine.  Mistress is poor cook, that's all," he joked weakly.

"You are not fine, and I'm not that poor of a cook," she said bluntly, folding her hands into her sleeves again.  "I can make it less painful while you're getting through it, though.  Does that interest you?"

"Ra'kesh needs help from no one," he said quickly, a little more forcefully than he meant to.  He glanced to the side, thinking for a moment.  "But..  Ra'kesh has no free will anymore.  Mistress can do as she wishes to slave."

Kala looked at him, one eyebrow raised.  She had never been exceptional at reading people, but that really did sound like a way to say yes without admitting weakness.

"All right, then...  slave." She loathed hearing that word coming out of her mouth.   _ This is what I've come to.   _ "In the cupboard over the sink there is a blue bottle.  Take it with you into the guest room, drink all of it, and get into bed."

She had brewed it herself, for insomnia; drinking all of it certainly would not kill him (magic was different from conventional pharmaceutical art in that way), but it would put him out for probably two or three days, long enough to get through the worst escalation of misery.

"Yes, Mistress," he answered coolly, stepping back into the bathroom and retrieving the bottle.  He uncorked it and sniffed the contents, wrinkling his nose at the unfamiliar scent.

Ra'kesh squeezed past Kala in the hallway and went for the guest bedroom, which he had only glanced at earlier.  Now he took a moment to look around a bit more thoroughly before seating himself on the bed.  A lingering smell of Orc told him that Kala once had a much larger family, but just like with the clothes, the scent was old and faded.  Perhaps mage blew them up in an experiment gone wrong, he mused.

He gulped the strange tonic quickly, surprised to find it was not quite as offensive as he expected.  But he washed it down with the glass of water left for him anyway.

Kala went to lean in the doorway of the guest bedroom.  "And lie on your side.  It's safer."

The potion would take a few seconds to take effect.  At first he would start to feel heavy and tired, limbs harder to lift and move.  That would rapidly escalate until he felt made of stone, immovable and immeasurably weighty; sinking into a pillow and mattress would feel incredible.  From there it would be a rapid fade into darkness.

"What ominous words," Ra'kesh muttered, unbuttoning the vest and throwing it over the night stand.  But he did as he was told, slipping under the covers and laying on his side.  To someone who had been spending the last year sleeping most nights on the floor of various skooma dens, pubs, and abandoned buildings, the bed was incredibly soft and inviting.

He closed his eyes and imagined that the heaviness overtaking his limbs was instead the sweet embrace of skooma.  It was a slightly similar effect, minus the overwhelming joy of course.  He was asleep before he could think of anything else.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Kala was fairly certain he could not throw up while under the powerful drain effect, but lying on his side would ensure he did not choke if she was wrong.  Explaining that had not seemed productive even to her.  She went to get the cup and bottle for washing, checked to make sure he was breathing calmly, and went on about the day's activities.

 

She spent the next two days cooking the guar meat until it fell apart and rendering it into something like pemmican, mixed up with berries to enhance the flavor.  She made a half-dozen potions of enhanced charisma and sent Bala to trade them to Ra'virr for a shirt and pants that would fit a tall, skinny Khajiit.  He did not cheat her.  He would want her business again in the future.  She folded them up and laid them on the night stand next to Ra'kesh.

 

The first night she checked on him before she turned in.  Then she went to check on her laundry hamper.  She was folding up clothes to put in her dresser when she noticed that something seemed off about the top of it.

 

Two of the rings were missing from the steel ring-dish with the carven finger sticking up in the middle.  She frowned, touching the remaining ones.  They looked very much alike, but the magical signature of each would tell its effect to her.   _Water Walking, Water Breathing, a minor Shock effect, Light...  What in the world would he want with a ten-second Slowfall and an Almsivi Intervention?_ _Well, if it makes him feel safer, I suppose he can keep them._ She shrugged and went to bed.

 

The second day she sent out laundry to be done.

 

The morning of the third day she went to check if the Khajiit was still sleeping.

 

Ra'kesh's eyes fluttered open as he slowly emerged from his deep, dreamless sleep.  He stared into darkness for a while, waiting for his eyes to adjust and wondering where he was.  It all came back soon enough, along with a throbbing ache in the shoulder he was laying on.

 

Ra'kesh swung his legs out of bed and sat up stiffly.  He rolled his painfully dry tongue on the roof of his mouth and grimaced at the taste.  Just as he was contemplating whether to lay back down or get a drink of water, he heard movement, and turned to see Kala in the doorway.

 

"Ra'kesh slept through night to morning?" he asked hoarsely, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

She was wearing a different robe than the first one he had seen.  This one was a dark green, worn around the hems.

 

"You went to sleep on Morndas," she said.  "Today is the morning of Turdas.  Do you feel like eating? I'm frying kwama eggs.  Oh, and some other clothes are on the night stand.  My brother's really don't fit you."

 

Ra'kesh rubbed his face, not really sure he had heard correctly.  He looked up at the clothes, and again felt horrible for all Kala had done for him.

 

"Many thanks, Mistress.  Ra'kesh will come down soon."

 

She blinked a couple of times.  Her mouth opened and then shut.  Then she said hoarsely,

 

"Take whatever time you need," and turned to rapidly head downstairs.  A green complexion does not show a blush as easily.  She was grateful.

 

_ How do you live with yourself after that? Can you ever face a freedwoman again knowing that a slave has thanked you? And you know he'll take advantage now that he knows he can get to you that way, damn it all to Oblivion. _

 

_ Damn, damn, damn. _

 

She hastily set about hauling out the frying pan and cracking a pair of enormous eggs into a dram of kwama oil.  The knapsacks in the corner were almost full now, with potions, dried food, picks and brushes, water skins, bedrolls tied onto the outside, dry torches threaded through the straps.  The fragrance of eggs cooking wafted through the house as she poured a big glass of water for each of them and set out the plates, one at the dining table, one at the alchemy table in the corner.

 

Ra'kesh wondered briefly if he offended Kala somehow; she seemed flustered.  But he was too groggy to think on it for very long.  He stiffly dressed himself in the new clothes, transferring the stolen goods into his pockets and putting away the old clothes in the dresser.  Then he visited the bathroom and drank directly from the pump for what felt like several minutes straight.

 

As he descended the stairs, Ra'kesh was surprised to find that the scent of frying Kwama eggs elicited a watering mouth and rumbling stomach rather than the expected revulsion.  He stood near the bottom of the stairs and scanned the room, noticing the travel equipment.  It frightened him a little; he'd wasted three days just sleeping.  He had to find time between now and the trip to somehow get into town and sell off Kala's jewelry.

 

She glanced up as he came downstairs, reasserting facial impassivity with an effort as she poked at the eggs.  She followed his look at the knapsacks, then looked at them again thoughtfully.  It was possible he wouldn't even be able to lift one without fortification.  Well, she had potions for that.  She just didn't have enough hands to carry all of the tools and scrolls.

 

Still, she did have a way to see if he could handle walking yet.

 

“Here, you sit here, I prefer my alchemy table anyway,” she said briskly, as she served scrambled kwama eggs onto the plates.  “I need more bittergreen.  We'll go and try to find some today.” She carried her own plate and fork over to the alchemy corner to tuck in.  She was a neat eater, but certainly not apt to leave food on her plate.

 

Ra'kesh positioned the chair so that he would face the alchemy table while he ate, and took his seat.

 

"Ra'kesh does not mean to pry, but it is obvious Mistress once had large family.   Why do these people not help with big trip?" he asked carefully.  He took one bite of egg, and for once, food actually tasted like food.  He started shoveling egg into his mouth before he remembered that proper folks had to put on airs at all time, even while they ate.  He wondered if the rules of etiquette applied to slaves.

 

She scooted the chair around to face him, holding the plate up.  Apparently fancy etiquette was not a high priority for Kala, at least.

 

"Oh, I still do.  My parents live on their estate in Suran.  One of my brothers does, too.  The other has his own forge now.  My parents would probably give me money if I asked, but they would be disappointed.  They're already a bit disappointed that I went into magery instead of becoming a smith or a warrior.  Father was a Legionnaire when he was a young man.  Er...  don't make yourself sick?"

 

She averted her eyes from the shoveling.   _ Maybe it will stay down.  That would be a good first step. _

 

Ra'kesh did slow his eating, and noisily gulped his water to wash it down.

 

"Nonsense, Ra'kesh is strong." He waved his hand at her.  He noticed that his grip was weak, but it was hard to say whether this was still withdrawal or simply from not eating for three days straight.

 

"Smith, warrior, both honorable professions.   Ra'kesh agrees with parents! But if child has natural talent in magic, this must be nurtured.  If the Gods see fit to bestow gifts, must not waste." He finished the rest of his eggs, and resisted a strong urge to lick the plate clean.  Maybe when her back was turned...

 

"That's charitable of you." She was still working on hers, gazing at the distorted green image out the window.  "What did you do before you were sold, anyway? I know that you're not 19 and you obviously aren't a farmer."

 

Ra'kesh stared at his plate for a moment, wondering what to tell.  He stood and carried his plate and utensils to the sink, and spoke with his back turned as he washed.

 

"Parents and siblings die when Ra'kesh young, maybe 15.  Dunmer slavers taking young ones; they kill if families give too much trouble.  So Ra'kesh become pirate, slit many Dunmer throats." He turned to Kala and grinned when he said this, drawing his finger across his neck.  "But Ra'kesh not on sea in many years.  Doing work here and there, try to get coin to go home to Alabaster.  Ra'kesh visits friend at wrong time, friend is arrested and poor Ra'kesh gets blamed too.  Dunmer magistrate blame all Khajiit and send to slave pen, guilt or innocence does not matter." His tone had been very lighthearted at the start, but a theatrical level of anger crept into his voice when he spoke of his arrest.

 

He placed the earthenware on the counter to dry, and returned to his seat.

 

"Ra'kesh does not suppose Mistress has flin?"

 

She turned to look when he moved, listening without interruption.  Then she shook her head as she got up to go over and wash up her own plate.

 

“I'm afraid not," she said over her shoulder.  She still wore her black hair in a short, fat braid.  "It's expensive stuff.  I'd have to trade across probably ten of my homemades to get one bottle of it from Ra'virr, and there've just been other things that I needed more.  So where did the skooma enter that story?”

 

Ra'kesh shifted about in his seat.

 

"Friend was selling skooma.  Of course, Ra'kesh may partake now and again- to Khajiit, moon sugar is very sacred thing, and skooma is one form of this.  No different from matze, sujamma, and other such drinks Dunmer love.  Religious persecution, that is all."

 

"You know, my parents' housekeeper is a very religious woman.  Always swearing by Baan Dar, Jode and Jone.  She's never mentioned skooma as a ceremonial observance." She dried the pan carefully, then bent to put it away, clattering about the things in the cupboard.  "In fact, inasmuch as she lost her sister to it, she was particularly opposed to its use in that context.  So I think you are shoveling muck, Ra'kesh."

 

Ra'kesh flicked his tail in agitation.  He couldn't be a smart-ass after hearing that an acquaintance had died.

 

"Yes, that may be true.  But Khajiit religion is not highly organized like other races have.  It is very personal thing.  And Dunmer are still bastards who have it in for Khajiit.  Dunmer hate Orc too, Mistress must know this." He stood, and walked around the perimeter of the room, examining the clutter on the shelves.  He decided to change the subject.

 

“Not all Dunmer, but yes, there are many.” She looked at that tail – useful, that, even for someone as obtuse as she felt herself to be – and judged it was better to let it go.

 

There was more that she could have said.  Even Dra'viji had ceased to care for Zharra – no deserved honorifics for her, no dra', no daro', not even the morally unflattering but at least attractive la' in the end.  She had tried at first, they had all tried at first.  Father had found jobs for her around the estate, because Dra'viji begged, and nobody could say no to Dra'viji.  Mother had slipped the housekeeper extra money, knowing it would go to her sister.  Even her brothers had tried to be kind to the woman.  But it went on for years, and she never stayed clean, and in the end she would lie, steal, even threaten violence in order to get money for skooma.  There was no pitying her after she had left claw-marks on her sister when she was caught stealing again.  When she was finally found dead in the inn at Suran surrounded by empty bottles, it was a relief to everyone who knew her.  It was awful to think it, and no one had said it aloud, but it was the truth.

 

Perhaps that was why she had gravitated to this particular slave, the thought that he deserved it in some way because he was the same kind of person Zharra had been.

 

_ It still is not true.  A man should be free.  We would not let even Zharra be sold for thirty-five gold to some stranger from Balmora. _

 

She realized she had not said anything for several seconds, staring into space, and shook her head, going over to get her staff from the corner and a couple of canvas bags from under the kitchen cupboard.

 

"So, Ra'kesh collecting plants today? Quite a demotion from former station in life," he said this in mock disappointment, indicating that he did not really care.

 

“Well, you will share that humble chore with me, if it's any consolation to you.” Kala handed a bag to Ra'kesh.  “I need spore pods and marshmerrow, too, but they're scarcer in this climate.  Come on.”

 

She headed out the front door, waiting for the Khajiit to follow, and then waved her hand above the handle as it closed.  It clicked twice as it locked.

 

Ra'kesh accepted the bag and followed Kala out, once again appreciating the fresh air.  He watched Kala's magic trick with the door from the corner of his eye, filing that information away for later.  Magnus was already climbing to his throne in the apex of the sky, and a warm breeze ruffled Ra'kesh's mane.

 

He shuffled his hands around awkwardly, clasping his hands behind his back and then dropping them to his sides.  There was no point in trying to conceal the bracers, Kala's neighbors would learn he was a slave soon enough.  He glanced away from the passer-bys on the street, unable to meet their gaze.  Instead, he studied the buildings, trying to categorize the neighborhood - working class - and examining alleyways and hiding places where discrete meetings might take place.

 

Labor Town was close-built, labyrinthine; people with less to spend on housing had to live closer together and in smaller homes, and the walkways between them were numerous and narrow.  Balmora had not been laid out by planners, but rather built up over time from the river outward, with all of the chaos of winding streets that this ultimately entailed.  There were always one or two young men of no obvious profession loitering in the darker places, sometimes Dunmer, sometimes other races.

 

Kala breathed in as she walked, squinting as her eyes adjusted.  She had been indoors for three days, and the change was pleasant to her as well.  There were people that she knew casually who greeted her as they passed.   

 

“Three blessings, Kala,” or a gruffer but still cautiously polite, “Morning, outlander.” They saw nothing remarkable in her being followed by a much taller Khajiit trying to hide his slave bracers.  Sometimes new slaves were shy, or perhaps she'd been beating him to break him in.   Someone who lived in this neighborhood would have to buy cheap and make the best of it.  Everyone knew that Saluri down the street had had no end of trouble with that Argonian she bought by mail from Caldera: “Sent away his silt strider fares to his master and everything and he was lazy as the day was long, hardly kept the house clean, you know, she'd really been cheated on that one.”

 

It was a good half hour's walk to get out of the city to the West, traveling along the river toward the narrow walkway that went through the arch.  Hlaalu guards in their bonemold armor kept a close eye on the way in and out even in the day-time, for there were no solid gates.  They were visible off in the distance for some way before Kala and Ra'kesh would reach them, at least now and then when the river turned that way.  In the meantime, even in this mostly residential neighborhood there was the odd beggar or street vendor, and the bakeries and laundries were in full swing even if the best merchants and smiths were over in the Commercial District.  Clouds of steam emerged from doorways scented with soap or yeast as they passed.

 

His joints ached as he moved, but Ra'kesh did his best to keep up with Kala in order to mask his infirmity.  The stinging humiliation of being seen as a slave faded somewhat as he worried instead about keeping his paws on the ground.  The sound of water gently sloshing against boats in the canal below, as well as the strong odour of freshly caught slaughterfish from the marketplaces lining the river, brought back faint memories of the port towns he had spent much of his youth in.  It reminded him of happier, simpler times.

 

No man or mer directed their greetings to Ra'kesh, so he ignored them.  He was accustomed to ignoring their hateful scowls when he awoke from a bender on some anonymous city street.  The distaste elves had for him was mutual, so he did not care.

 

As they approached the gates, Ra'kesh's tongue lolled out of his mouth in a quiet pant.  His tail hung limply, tip twitching.

 

_ Ra'kesh used to jog for miles chasing prey with Father, now a simple stroll through city is too much _ , he admonished himself angrily.

 

Kala caught an unexpected glimpse of pink from the corner of her eye and glanced up to see the Khajiit's tongue out.  That usefully demonstrative tail hung limp.

 

_ He's going to need a rest once we're clear of the city.  Think of a way to do that, think of a way to do that… _

 

“Good day, Serjo,” she said politely to the guard as they approached the narrow walk.  Without thinking she stepped in front of Ra'kesh; she had always been accustomed to walk in front of her father and brothers because they could see over her head.

 

“Under sun and sky,” the guard returned from inside his bonemold helm.  Little spur-like projections stuck out either side of the rounded visor.  “Be careful out there, Sera.  Bandits have been seen on the road to Moonmoth Legion Fort.  We have a Fighter's Guild contract out, but they haven't brought anyone in yet.”

 

“Thank you for the warning.  We'll be very careful.”

 

“Is this your slave? I've never seen you with a Khajiit before.”

 

Kala hardened her jaw.  She would have to say it to someone sooner or later.  Her tone was calm.

 

“Yes.  I've just bought him in Tel Aruhn this week.”

 

“I think you may have been cheated, Sera, but you know your own business best.  Off you go.”

 

Ra'kesh stood up at full height, pushing out his chest and glaring at the guard when he said that Kala had been "cheated".  The Dunmer waved them on, seemingly heedless.   Ra'kesh continued to glare as they walked away, turning his head to keep his eyes on the guard until he was forced to break the stare.

 

Kala hurried out to the edge of the main road.  There was not much foot traffic.  Most people who needed to travel between Balmora and Vivec took the silt strider.  There was one at the high platform now, shifting its gangly legs idly as the driver up above harangued people passing the stairs to try to fill all the seats.  “We make a special trip, just for you! Same low price!”

 

"Idiot elf," Ra'kesh growled when they had left the guard's range of hearing.  "Without fancy armor, Ra'kesh could knock him flat." He slow-motion pantomimed the moves he would use.  His anger dissipated as they left the city limits.

 

Kala chose to ignore his posturing.   When they were out from under the giant insect's shadow she said,

 

“Well, I'm afraid it can't be helped.  You'll have to watch for bandits while I'm picking bittergreen.  Probably best if you sit over there.” She pointed to a fallen log under the shade of a great mushroom near the path.  “Whistle or something if you see anything dangerous.”

 

Ra'kesh "hmphed" under his breath, but did as he was told.  After spending so long in the sunlight, the shade was refreshing.  He rested his forearms on his thighs and watched Kala gather for a while, until he felt some strength returning.  He was still tired, and a little queasy...   But not as useless as he looked.

 

Ra'kesh approached Kala with his bag.

 

"Khajiit has good ears, no danger here.  Which plant is correct ones?"


	3. Chapter 3

When Ra'kesh approached her with the bag Kala looked up, leaflet in hand.

 

"This one.  You can see it's a rosette of three around this smaller central bud.  Also, if you should see any of these, I need them, too." She reached down to pluck a stalk of wickwheat, rare amidst the growth of heather.  "There aren't many here, mind.  Just if you should happen to see one.  The bittergreen is the most important.  Do you know what saltrice looks like?"

 

“Of course, saltrice common plant.” Ra'kesh nodded.  “Mistress needs this as well?” He had already begun to move in the opposite direction from Kala, picking as he went.

 

"Always.  It can restore both health and fatigue when mixed properly, so it is indispensable to a mage.  And you can make bread from it, of course, if you're willing to spend the time grinding it to flour."

 

Kala resumed her own picking.  She did not tire easily; but then, she normally did this several times a week.

 

"An alchemist must do this often.  Sometimes I take the silt strider out of town to do it elsewhere, depending on the ingredients I need.  Rides are cheap enough and certain potions valuable enough to make it worthwhile.  For example, if I can kill a bushel of cliff racers and collect the same in coda flowers I can eat for a month.  That's out in the swamp, mind."

 

Ra'kesh whistled.

 

"Ra'kesh picked wrong career.  Unimaginable that one makes a living picking weeds.  But Ra'kesh not smart enough for reading heavy mage books." He chuckled, and continued moving down the path.  

 

"It's not the weeds, it's what you do with them," she said dryly.  "How smart you are is still something I'm trying to figure out."

 

Ra'kesh stopped after a few moments, remembering that in 50 yards the spell on his bracers would activate.  He wasn't even close to being that far away from Kala, but the reminder soured his good mood.  He said nothing more, and concentrated on the task at hand.

 

He didn't seem inclined to talk after that, so she let it go, continuing in her work.  She plucked strands of other useful plants here and there as she found them, but this close to Balmora there was more roobrush, heather and occasionally corkbulb than anything else.

 

When perhaps twenty minutes had passed, the wind shifted slightly, carrying Ra'kesh the clear scent of recently washed orc, chemicals, plucked herbs, oiled leather and what was definitely a human male.  No one was obviously in view, but the shadows under the corkbulbs across the road had changed slightly.

 

Ra'kesh paused for a moment, whiskers twitching as he scented the air.  He flicked his ears about and caught the faint creaking of leather armor.  He continued picking, and slowly made his way back to Kala, plucking a few stalks of whickweat as he went.

 

"Mistress, someone stands over there," he spoke under his breath, nodding slightly to the thick brush on the side of the road.  "At least one human male." He held his head low, as if paying attention to his chore, but kept watch from the corner of his eye.

 

Kala frowned as she tucked another sprig of bittergreen into her bag, letting go of the slender vine.  She had never encountered bandits out here before.  Usually the road was busy enough to discourage them this close to the city.  She looked up and realized they had wandered a good half-mile from the gates now, Balmora dwindling into the near distance.  They were certainly out of hearing of the guards.

 

"What could possibly be worth," she started to say, and was interrupted by the twang of a heavy crossbow being fired.  The form of a man in darkly stained leather armor was just visible among the shading leaves as he stooped to reload.  Kala's reflexes were not equal even to notice the thing in the air on its way to her chest.

 

Ra'kesh instinctively shoved Kala to the ground, hitting the ground hard himself but rolling to absorb the impact.  The bolt buried itself in the dirt several yards away with a  _ thud _ .  He leapt to his feet, snarling, claws extended and rushed the bandit.  The man had loaded the crossbow and aimed for the charging Khajiit.  Ra'kesh dodged to the left, anticipating the shot, but did not move fast enough.  The bolt grazed his right side, slicing through shirt and flesh.  Ra'kesh howled in pain and stumbled onto his hands and knees just in front of the bandit.

 

Kala  _ oofed _ as she landed with a crunch of heather, braid flying behind her.  She rolled to one knee, blood rushing to her head in a reflex as old as the Orsimer themselves.  Ra'kesh was on his hands and knees, bleeding from a gash in his side.  In front of him, a tall human in dark leather and a crude mask made from a length of black silk stepped from the corkbulb foliage, fabric whispering as he drew a dagger.

 

She ran through her inventory of spells.  Destruction was not her area of greatest proficiency, but in a storm all ports are dry, as they say.  She made a flicking gesture with one hand.  A sphere of blue-white energy hissed through the air and impacted on the man's chest, driving him back a step.  Frost spread over his breastplate, producing an audible  _ crink _ and  _ crack  _ as the leather went brittle.

 

He did not drop the dagger.  He threw it at Kala instead.  She jerked one hand diagonally in front of her, and the air flickered as an iridescent bubble formed around her.  The dagger passed through it, but it was slowed enough that she was able to move aside.

 

Deep red slowly blossomed on Ra'kesh's new shirt.  He gritted his teeth through the pain and climbed to his feet while Kala had the human occupied.  With a snarl he launched himself at the man, but the bandit moved too quickly and dodged out of the way, throwing a punch at Ra'kesh's head.  Ra'kesh deflected the punch with his forearm and was knocked backwards, but kept his balance.  He circled behind, forcing the man to choose between facing Ra'kesh or Kala.  With Ra'kesh in striking distance, he had no choice but to keep his eyes on the Khajiit.

 

Ra'kesh stared into the human's eyes and grinned.  He flicked his eyes at Kala.

 

"Now, mage!"

 

The bandit whirled around to respond to the imminent attack, and when he did, Ra'kesh ripped a bolt from the quiver on his back.  The bandit realized the deception as soon as he felt the Khajiit's hands on him, but it was too late.  Ra'kesh grabbed the man by the hair with one hand and drove the bolt into his neck with the other.  His agonized scream pierced the air; Birds shook the branches of nearby trees as they flew away in fear.  The bandit dropped the crossbow in shock and fell to his knees, grasping at the bolt in his neck.  But Ra'kesh did not let go.  He held the man's hair in his clenched fist and twisted the bolt, sinking it in deeper.  The man's eyes darted wildly as blood ran down his neck from under the mask.

 

The bandit might have recognized it as a ruse, but Kala did not.  She made a flinging gesture as she ran toward them, and a ribbon of crimson light sped from her hand to the man's chest, buried in his body.  It stuttered as the man fell to his knees, and she squinted at the awful sound he made, slowing to a walk.  The ribbon of absorption stuttered again, flickered and vanished as the bandit's eyes rolled up and he slumped.  One breath rattled in his chest before he went limp.

 

Kala nudged the body with her foot, then turned to look at Ra'kesh.  "You're hurt.  Hold still." She reached for him with one hand, the fingertips glowing faintly blue.  No veteran of any real combat beyond the most formal of mage duels, it did not occur to her that reaching for him while he still had both hands on his prey might be a bad idea.

 

Ra'kesh released the man when he felt the body grow limp.  The corpse fell face-first on the ground, a dark stain slowly spreading on the dirt below.  His hand automatically went to his side to cover the wound.

 

Ra'kesh eyed Kala dully, barely aware of what she was saying.  He panted heavily, blood still pounded in his ears.  The world around him seemed to spin for a moment.  He knew that he would fall soon, so Ra'kesh dropped to one knee.

 

He flinched away from her touch, but realized a moment later she was using healing magic.  He pulled his blood-smothered palm away from the wound to give her access.

 

Automatically, Kala put her left arm around Ra'kesh's waist to support him as he sank to one knee.  He was bigger than she was, or would have been had he been in better health; but she was strong enough to support him, even if she could not have lifted him with her arms alone.  The solid warmth of him startled her.  She had not been so close to another living body in...  She couldn't remember.  Probably the last time she had hugged Dra'viji goodbye.

 

"It's all right, it's all right, I have you." She touched her glowing hand to the wound.  Healing power bloomed, and pain began to dim and fade as the flesh crept together, blood drying up and blowing away like dust as the wound closed.

 

"I never saw him," she realized aloud, slowly loosening her grip, not wishing to let him fall over, aware now it was over that she had invaded his space without asking.  "He would've killed me."

 

Ra'kesh stared mesmerized at the blue glow.  He had never seen magic use this close before, let alone on himself.  Heat spread through his body from the site of the wound as the pain faded.  He gingerly touched the spot with two fingers when she was finished.  If not for the tear in his shirt, it would be impossible to know he had ever been injured.  He stared at Kala in amazement.

 

Although the pain was gone, Ra'kesh felt horribly dizzy.  He hadn't lost much blood, but the sudden exertion..  it felt as if he had just expended more energy in 60 seconds than he had collectively in the last several months.

 

"Ra'kesh is fine, can walk now," he said awkwardly, extracting himself from Kala's arm.  He was not used to being touched or accepting help.  But rather than standing, he crouched next to the body and began turning out the pockets, completely oblivious to the emotional moment Kala was having.  He came up with a few gold coins and nothing else.   Kala stared back for a moment, face blank and stunned.  As he pulled away she recoiled, sinking back in her heels to put more space between them.

 

"Bah," Ra'kesh muttered in disgust.  "Stupid bandit probably keep stash somewhere else."

 

_ Idiot.  What is wrong with you? _ Kala thought.   Maybe it was time to give in to the constant hints in Mother's letters and have her marriage arranged if she was going to go all soft in the head from having to heal one lying skooma addict.

 

She got up quickly, brushing at her knees, and went over to where the man had been hiding.  Carefully she parted the fronds above the bulbous roots.  She could just glimpse a strap flopped out from behind one.  Kala crouched to slide back into the space, feeling around.  Her hand closed around the bulky shape of a canvas knapsack.  She dragged it out into the light and upended it.  Several small bags rolled out onto the ground, clinking with drakes.  They were followed by another dagger, a jar of armor blacking, a water skin, and a paper wrap that probably held dried food.

 

..."Oh," said Kala.

 

Ra'kesh pushed himself off of the ground with his hands and stood with some effort.  He followed Kala to the bandit's hiding place and watched over her shoulder as she emptied the knapsack.  His golden eyes widened when the coin purses hit the ground, like a kitten in a sweets shop.

 

"See? Mage is smarter than Ra'kesh," he chuckled, reaching down to pick up one of the bags.  He froze, noticing a familiar scent.  Never in a million years could he forget it.

 

Moon sugar.  It was here, somewhere.  After a quick search his eyes landed on the small paper packet and knew this was it.  He had to prevent Kala from getting it somehow.  Ra'kesh quickly grabbed the bag he'd been heading for originally, ignoring the little package for now.   _ Act natural, Ra'kesh. _

 

“Flattery gets you nothing, but it is a nice change from casting aspersions on my sanity.” She had not missed his sudden immobility, but she did not see the source; at first she looked around to see if his keener senses had detected another enemy.  By the time she looked back he was holding out the bag of coins.

 

"Mistress should probably put things back in bag, count at home.  Bandit may have friends nearby.  Not safe," he said, holding out the bag of coins to her and collecting up the others.

 

“Good idea.  I've got enough bittergreen for today.” Kala took it, careful not to touch him, and started putting things back into the knapsack.  “I suppose we leave him where he lies.  I'll tell the guards when we pass them, anyway.  Maybe they'll finally be able to convince the Fighters Guild to get out here and investigate.”

 

Ra'kesh couldn't help but stare as Kala's hands moved over the items on the ground, all of them valuable things he'd like to sneak into his possession..  but especially that package.  He flicked his ears at Kala as she spoke, not really listening.  His mouth watered imagining that sweet moon sugar melting on his tongue.

 

“I am going to cast another spell on you,” Kala said.   “I'm sure you're not tired, but if I don't cast my restoratives every so often I'll forget how to use them.” It was a weak excuse, but she wasn't feeling her brightest at the moment.  She wanted badly to be in a quiet room well away from the stink of recent death and the large and sharp-toothed reminder of her bad judgment.  She dropped the paper packet back into the bag without even looking at it.

 

She flicked her left hand at Ra'kesh.  Green light bloomed around his body in a spiral as some of his fatigue dissipated, leaving him less dizzy and exhausted.

 

As Kala's magic enveloped his body, Ra'kesh felt his fatigue and dizziness fade like a bad memory.  He clenched his fists, reveling in the new-found strength.  It was nothing like being fully healthy, but he hadn't felt this good since...   Well, since he started taking skooma daily.

 

He collected the crossbow and bolts from the body, then walked over to the spot where they had initially been attacked and gathered up his bag, and Kala's too since she was carrying the knapsack.  The path was littered with stray wickwheat stalks and bittergreen petals that had fallen out.  He gathered these up, stuffing them into a bag rather roughly.

 

“To Balmora?” he said eagerly, starting off down the path and looking at Kala over his shoulder.

 

"Balmora," she confirmed.  "I suppose you can keep the crossbow, provided you promise not to shoot me with it."

 

The thought of shooting Kala with the crossbow hadn't even crossed his mind, but when she mentioned it, Ra'kesh felt very conflicted.  While Kala's magic was impressive beyond words, none of it had been deadly.  And she had her guard down.  He probably could kill her and take the key, or at least threaten her to give it up.

 

Ra'kesh may be a thief, an addict, and a generally shady individual, but he also had honor.  Kala saved his life back there.  He sighed.  At least this was a good chance for him to prove to her that he was trustworthy and get her guard lowered even further.

 

"Ra'kesh promise, but might shoot stupid ash-face guard.  Heh."

 

Kala started off back toward the city, walking quickly.  There was no reason to slow down for Ra'kesh's sake now, and she badly wanted a bath.  Now that it was over she felt sick to her stomach, and there was a strange, prickly feeling in her limbs, like the time she'd asked Galbedir to teach her a contact shock spell.

 

It wasn't as if she had never seen a dead body.  There had been Zharra, at the funeral, and her grandparents' pyres.  Once she had tripped over a beggar in an alley who had turned out to be dead, and she had reported it to the guards, and they had come and hauled the poor soul away.  None of those had been violent.  She had listened to all of her father's bloodthirsty war stories without the slightest inkling of how a newly killed corpse would actually look or smell.

 

That particular thought made her stomach lurch.

 

"Hold on a second, Ra'kesh," she said, quite calmly, and stepped over into the heather to lean on the trunk of a giant mushroom while she threw up.

 

Ra'kesh turned, confused about what she could be stopping for, and quickly averted his gaze for her privacy while she vomited.  He was very desensitized to death..  in fact he'd killed a significant number of people with his own hands.  But he could clearly remember the day he had been in Kala's place, the first day he had seen death.  Ra'kesh had thrown up as well.

 

He waited until he heard her footsteps on the path again before turning to check if she was ok.

 

"First time not easy.  Mistress feel better after good drink," he said gently.  It was stupid and unhelpful, but it was all he had to offer.

 

Kala spat, rinsed her mouth from the tiny emergency flask in its tiny pouch on her belt, and spat again.  It was a waste of a good fatigue restorative, but she had to have that taste out of her mouth.  It took her a moment to register that Ra'kesh had spoken.  Then she turned to stare at him.

 

“ _ First  _ time.  You've – No, I don't want to know.” She rubbed between her eyes as she came back to the path.  “Thanks for the thought.” Her head hurt, but that was just from throwing up; everything would clench and it would take a while for it all to unclench.   

 

Something had happened for a moment, while she thought they were about to die.  Everything had been slower and clearer, easy to understand, without complications.   _ Perhaps I am an orc after all.  Won't Father be proud.   _ She tasted acid in her throat again, and drained the rest of her flask to get rid of it, tucking the empty carefully away.

 

“I could certainly use one.  At least it looks as though we can afford to share a bottle of flin.” She did not want to go and get one.  She wanted to get into a tub of hot water and scrub until her skin was raw.  But that would not be productive, and it also would not get a new shirt for the slave who had just pushed her out of the way of a crossbow bolt.

 

_ That was unexpected,  _ she thought, as rational cogitation slowly began to reassert itself _.  I would half think he would offer the man my satchel, or run away. _

 

“You really  _ were  _ a pirate, weren't you,” she said.   _ Slit many Dunmer throats.  Ha.   _ “I honestly thought you made that up.”

 

Ra'kesh watched Kala swig her potion for a moment to ensure she was ok before continuing to walk in front of her.

 

"Khajiit all liars now hm? Such racism!" he mocked good-naturedly.  "Yes, Ra'kesh had little choice with no more parents to take care.  Dunmer call themselves traders on paperwork for access to port, but let slavers on ships.  Humans of Empire stupid, or don't care.  So Ra'kesh have perfect job: good revenge and good coin.  Khajiit government not care much, look other way, because Khajiit hate elf."

 

He sighed heavily and leaned the crossbow over his shoulder to help carry the weight.  As a pirate, their marks were just as often truly innocent traders, even other Khajiit at times, and plenty of Argonians.  But Kala did not need to hear that just now.

 

"Meet several Orcs in those days," he added.  "Always good warriors.  Always good drinkers.  Mistress not like any Orc Ra'kesh has known.  Very proper."

 

“Yes, my parents have also helpfully pointed that out.” Kala opened and closed her hands as she walked, tugging them back into her sleeves.  They were showing an irritating tendency to tremble.   _ Get hold of yourself.  How will you survive your expedition if you are overset by one dead bandit?  _ “But there  _ are  _ other orcs in the Mages Guild, you know.  I learned that spell I used to heal you from Sharn gra-Muzgob here in Balmora.  She is an expert in the Restorative arts.  And it was an orcish healer who saved me when I was very small.  I fell out of a tree.”

 

As they approached the gates the guard grunted in surprise.

 

“You're letting your slave have a weapon?”

 

Ra'kesh stopped in his tracks and eyed the guard from boot to helm, squinting his eyes as if assessing the mer and finding him lacking.

 

"No jealousy, maybe someday Imperials will let their Hlaalu dogs have crossbows as well.  Khajiit might even teach you how to shoot." He flashed his fangs in a wide grin.

 

Kala stepped quickly between them as the guard started to reach for his longsword.

 

“He took it off the man who was trying to shoot me with it, Serjo,” she said, raising both hands placatingly.  “The body's still out by the road, if you want someone to go take a look at it.  He was definitely some sort of bandit, but I don't know if there are others.” And as the man hesitated, hand on his scabbard: “My slave saved my life today, Serjo.  Another traveler might not be so lucky.”

 

“This is the Guild's problem,” grumbled the man, finally lowering his gauntleted hand.  “It's time we submitted a complaint.  Lazy bastards and their Camonna Tong cronies.”

 

“A complaint definitely seems in order.  I'm very sorry to trouble you, Serjo.” She waved Ra'kesh urgently past her.

 

Ra'kesh smirked as he was ushered away.  The only thing better than taunting a Dunmer was doing so and getting away with it.

 

"Ra'kesh apologize for any embarrassment to Mistress.  Must not tarnish owner's good name with poor behavior," he said irreverently.

 

“You aren't sorry at all,” she said coolly as she started off toward the house, the guard waving them off irritably.  “You should be.  It is not impossible for the guards to confiscate you from me if you behave badly enough in public to prove that you won't obey me.  If that happens you will be sold again, cheap.   _ I  _ will be publicly embarrassed, but  _ you  _ will probably end up sold to some Telvanni for their corprus experiments.  I leave it to you to determine which of us will be worse off.”

 

It was all that she should have expected.   _ You give one inch, you show one sign of weakness, and he acts sympathetic for two seconds and then he immediately starts pushing to see what he can get away with. _

 

He  _ had  _ saved her life.

 

_ And I have saved his.  We're even.  Don't forget that and get all mush-headed.   _ She turned to the left and stalked off toward the Commercial district, sickness forgotten except for the headache.  That seemed to be getting worse.  The afternoon was drawing on now, the sun bright and hot overhead.  Steam rose from the river, and the smell of fish was stronger than the smells of bread and laundry that had greeted the morning.

 

Kala's words were a slap that wiped the mirth from his face in an instant.  He did not respond and instead plodded behind Kala, ears limp, staring at the back of her robe while mulling over her words.  When he finally looked up, Ra'kesh didn't recognize the area.

 

"Many pardons, but this is not the way to Mistress's home?" His voice had lost much of the energy from earlier.

 

“No, it isn't,” she said.  She sounded a little more subdued as well.  Her head still hurt.  “You need a new shirt, and I need a drink, and I also don't want to cook.  We're going to Ra'Virr's and the Lucky Lockup.  We can count what's left when we get home.”

 

The cobbled walk led uphill from the river, past the silt strider platform.  They passed the Lockup first, tattered banner waving in the breeze, but she kept going past the piles of crates and around the corner.

 

Ra'kesh double checked the tiny tear in his shirt to see if she was being serious.  He blinked, confused.

 

"Mistress waste coin on new clothes? This shirt one day old.  Orcs not learn mending skills?" He quickened his pace so they now walked side by side, so he could see her face.

 

Kala slowed, looking up at him in surprise.  “I suppose.  Then you'd have to wear a shirt with a mend in it and probably a permanent blotch, though.  Does that not bother you?” Her own clothes were not immaculate; even before she had been tossed into the bracken, there were permanent stains around the hem from ordinary dirt and at the cuffs from alchemical work.  She did have a notable lack of patches or holes.

 

Ra'kesh forced a nervous laugh.

 

"Ra'kesh wear same clothes for many years before taken in Tel Ahrun.  Suppose streetscum Khajiits and wealthy mages have different expectations of proper dress.  Yes, poorly dressed slave must reflect on master..." he trailed off, looking away.  He shifted about uncomfortably, transferring the crossbow to his other hand just to occupy himself.

 

Kala coughed, then squinted at the discomfort this caused her.  “Ah.”  _ One would think I had really hurt him.  The trouble is that I can't trust him in the slightest, and if I act as though I can he will just push back again. _

 

“Well.  Waste not, want not, I suppose.  We 'll get you another shirt as a spare, since you may need one on the expedition, and I will mend the current one.  How about that? We're nearly there anyway.” The great plaza of the Commercial District lay open in front of them, guar-sellers with their small herds penned near the main gate, shops and restaurants jammed in side-by-side with their banners pictographically advertising their wares.  To their right, the unassuming shop was packed into a corner between the Mages Guild and the steep, narrow street they had ascended.  A banner of two roughly-drawn guar indicated a general trader.  The street off to the right led to the Guilds, a book shop, more restaurants, and the stairs up to High Town, where the richer Hlaalu lived.

 

"Ra'kesh supposes that is fair," he answered quietly, although in truth it bothered him quite a bit that Kala was spending so much money on him while expecting nothing in return, other than made up jobs like "being a lookout." He was perfectly aware that their relationship was nothing like the typical master and slave.  Not that he wanted it to be, but it was hard to know how to behave in a role completely new to him while still holding onto his stubborn dignity.

 

_ Ra'kesh did kill the bandit, so it is rightfully Ra'kesh's gold anyway _ , he told himself.  But in that case, there's other things Ra'kesh would buy before shirts...  He pushed the thought away and followed Kala into the shop.

 

He was mortified to see that the shopkeeper was Khajiit.  Although Kala did mention the name earlier, Ra'kesh was distracted.  Rather than fumble around hiding his bracers, Ra'kesh tried his best to act natural and unphased by his situation.  He looked Ra'virr in the eye and gave a nod of greeting.

 

The interior was lined with shelving and stacked with dishes, equipment, folded clothes, random weapons.  The general impression was of a hurricane having passed through a Hlaalu mansion.

 

“Aah, pretty orclet, Ra'Virr will yet convince you to buy one of his famous daedric -” The shopkeeper, a slender fellow in clean but unpretentious homespuns, stopped to look the taller man over.  “...Pretty orclet has made a new purchase, it seems.” His tone was neutral, whiskers shifting.  Ra'Virr was evidently a master of his own reactions; after one small twitch his tail was quite still.  His ears never moved at all.

 

To Kala, the sudden cessation of his usual enthusiasm meant he probably disapproved.  They had always been on friendly terms, and she had not been able to bring herself to explain why she suddenly needed money when she had brought in the Make-Me-Pretties earlier in the week.  His green eyes lingered on the crossbow and the bags with more evident curiosity.

 

“Yes, this is Ra'kesh.  He is going with me to Dagon Fel for my expedition,” she explained quietly.  She couldn't bring herself to act as though she was proud of that fact.  “Today he very bravely defended me from a bandit who attacked us on the road, and now he needs a new shirt.”

 

The smaller man edged around to look more closely at Ra'kesh's clothing.  “B'vek! Ah, but that must have been a dreadful wound.  Yes, Ra'virr has another shirt for the doughty slave of the pretty orclet.  One moment.” He scooted over to rummage in a crate.

 

"Mistress praises Ra'kesh too much.  She dazzle bandit with powerful magics, and patch Ra'kesh up good as new." He patted his side for emphasis.

 

Ra'kesh dropped the canvas bags on the floor and set the crossbow on the counter, relieved to have it off his hands for a moment.  He explored the room with his eyes, searching for any clues about Ra'Virr's business..  It was quite fortuitous to have met another Khajiit in this way.  He might have moon sugar, or know where to get skooma in Balmora.  Ra'kesh scented the air for any signs of the sacred powder, but the shop was too busy with various smells to discern any one thing.

 

“Mm, well, if one must be a slave, one could fall into worse hands than those of Kala gra-Nend.” He came up with a shirt very similar to the one Ra'kesh presently wore, but dyed a dark green.  “Perhaps this will suit.”

 

The shop was entirely devoid of hints that the owner might traffic in either moon sugar or skooma.  There were no ornamental snuff-boxes, a subtle indicator of one sort, no pillows or hangings embroidered with icons of Sheggoroth or jollier images of Riddle'thar the Sugar God.

 

“All right.  Hold the bag up, Ra'kesh.” She went to rummage in the knapsack, trying to open one of the little money bags without taking it out.  The scent of moon sugar drifted faintly out into the room.  Ra'Virr laid his ears back immediately.

 

“Oh, Sera.  Please tell Ra'Virr you have not.”

 

She glanced up.  “Have not what?”

 

“Orclet, Ra'Virr knows there is moon sugar in your bag.  You cannot fool a Khajiit's nose.  One knows that alchemy is done with the stuff, but it is a terrible bane of our people, dear.  You must get rid of it as quick as you can.”

 

“Ugh, of course," Kala said, recoiling.  "How? If you burn it it gives off fumes, doesn't it?"

 

She began to rummage through the bag again, looking for the moon sugar.  “The bandit must've had it.  This bag was his.”


	4. Chapter 4

Ra'kesh stiffened at Ra'Virr's mention of the sugar.  He fought to remain impassive, but his claws dug deep into the knapsack in his hands.

 

_ That fetcher! That bastard! Selling Ra'kesh down the river! Race traitor!  _ He bit his tongue hard to keep from screaming.  He must salvage, quickly!  Ra'kesh pulled the bag away from Kala, replacing the cover on the opening.

 

"Must not destroy, moon sugar is far too valuable.  If Mistress sold the sugar, think of how much gold she could have for expedition," he purred with what he hoped was a charismatic smile, holding the bag to his chest.

 

Kala stared at him with startled repugnance.  Ra'Virr looked more pitying, squinting his green eyes as he laid one ear back.

 

"You knew that was in there.  You didn't tell me so you could keep it! I can't believe you, Ra'kesh.  And here I thought you were chipper because - I don't know why.  Forget it.  Put that knapsack down right now."

 

Pure rage flashed across his face.  His eyes flicked to the crossbow he'd left on the other end of the room and back to Kala.  Nothing could be done now.

 

"FINE!" he snarled, chucking the bag hard at Kala.  He spat at Ra'Virr, "Be proud of yourself, loud mouthed renrij." He stalked out of the shop and slammed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the plates on the shelves.

 

Kala caught the bag with an  _ oof,  _ darker green mounting into her face.  Her head felt as though it might explode.  For a moment she literally saw red, color falling across her vision.  Then she heard Ra'Virr saying,

 

“Sera? Kala, orclet?”

 

She shook her head to clear it, and was able to see again, the mist dissipating to show Ra'Virr's concerned face, one ear up and one down.  “I apologize for my slave,” she said through gritted teeth.  Then she looked down and saw that the bag was torn in half, contents fallen around her feet.  She had neither heard nor felt it.

 

“Oh, damnation.” Kala knelt hurriedly to start collecting up the smaller bags.  “I'm sorry, Ra'Virr.  Can you sell me another bag?”

 

“Yes, of course,” he said, crouching on his big paw-pads to help her.  “Is Khajiit escaping?”

 

“He can't get far.  The bracers will stop him at fifty yards.  Which of these is the sugar, and how do I get rid of it?”

 

“The white packet, there.” He indicated it with a claw, but did not touch it.  “Ra'Virr gives you a little bottle of sujamma, no charge.  You dissolve that in and add a pinch of shalk resin, turn it into harmless Make-Me-Faster potion.  No fuzzy head-feelings, no addiction for anybody, no smell to make a man mad.”

 

"Thank you so much," she said, rubbing between her eyes again.  "I apologize again."

 

"Ah, do not, everyone has bad day sometime." He gracefully hooked a small bottle from a shelf with one hand, popping the cork to release the potent scent of the local liquor.  Kala carefully unfolded the paper packet and tipped the powder into it, then rolled up the paper and stuck it in as well as Ra'Virr nodded.  Then he pulled a paper from another shelf and tipped a wad of shalk resin into it as well, shaking it vigorously with his thumb over the opening.  Kala watched as she straightened up, arms full of little bags and objects.

 

"There.  One Make-Me-Faster with tiny bit of paper no one will notice, no charge, no more moon sugar.  Ra'Virr gets knapsack for things and shirt, forty gold.  And most of that is for alchemy lesson Ra'Virr does not share with just anybody." He winked at her.  She smiled weakly.

 

"I greatly appreciate it." She watched him go and get a sturdy canvas knapsack, then helped him load everything into it, including the new Make-Me-Faster.

 

Several passersby on the busy street looked over with concern after hearing the loud bang.  Ra'kesh paid them no mind, but his furious scowl was disconcerting to some.  They hurried away from the seething Khajiit whose fists clenched spasmodically at his side.  Sickness spread from the pit of his stomach until his entire body was consumed with it.  He moved away from the door and leaned against the wall before he could get too dizzy.

 

Ra'kesh slid down the wall to rest on his haunches and dropped his head into his trembling hands.  He closed his eyes against the familiar stinging sensation.  If he could just clench his lids tight enough, it would go away.

 

The fresh air should have cleared his mind, the warm sunlight should have calmed his nerves.  But it was all nothing to him.  The world was ugly and gray.  He ached with every fiber of his being for something beautiful.  The hunger clawed at him from the inside.  Not in his belly, but in his brain.  It had been in his hands.

 

An eternity passed and nothing happened.  Kala didn't come to hunt him down.  He was a scrib on a leash, she had no reason to worry.  He breathed deeply to calm himself and stood.  He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching the few clouds roll lazily across the sky and tried to look as nonchalant as possible.

 

Kala emerged from the shop with herbal satchels, shirt, bottle and coin all packed into the knapsack, ten gold poorer out of her new bundle of wealth.  She looked around.  Ra'kesh had shown himself to be clever, when he wasn't on the subject on which he was least sane.  It did not strike her as at all likely that he had been so angry he had run the length of his tether and fallen flat.  And indeed, there he was, leaning on the wall and looking as if nothing had happened.

 

“Come on,” she said wearily, walking past him with the knapsack on her shoulder.  “We'll get lunch.  The Lockup does a decent roast scrib this time of day.” Her stomach roiled, hungry but still faintly nauseous, and scrib could be depended on to stay down in the worst of circumstances.

 

Ra'kesh stared coldly at Kala's back as she walked away.  After several yards he finally pushed away from the wall and slunk after her, but keeping his distance.  A few times he opened his mouth but quickly closed it again after realizing he had nothing to say.

 

The thought of entering a busy eatery as a slave was unthinkable.  First she stole the moon sugar that was rightfully his, and now she paraded him around town for those smug Dunmer bastards to see his shame..

 

_ Orc has gold now, leave Khajiit to die in the gutter and go buy a new slave, _ he thought bitterly.

 

After a few steps she realized she couldn't hear him.  Kala glanced over her shoulder.  He was walking well behind her, ears flat.

 

_ Probably a good thing I traded the crossbow to Ra'Virr.   _ She turned and kept going.   _ But probably also a good idea to have them wrap up lunch and take it home.  I'm tired, and everyone who sees him will think I'm some sort of monster who beats him or something.  I want to go to bed.  I don't care what time it is. _

 

_ And probably also a good idea to lock the bedroom door.  Ugh. _

 

“I'll get them to send it home with us,” she said to the air in general as she stopped outside the door to the Lockup.  “You can wait out here, if you like.” Then she pushed her way determinedly inside.

 

Ra'kesh did wait, shoving his hands into his pockets and loitering many steps away from the door.  He kept his head down to avoid eye contact with anyone who happened to look his way.  His fingers met the stolen jewelry which sparked a sudden surge of self-hatred.  He almost threw them onto the street, but that would have been stupid.

 

The trust he had worked so hard to gain was absolutely shattered now.  There was no way he was ever getting into town unsupervised to sell the rings.  Ra'kesh sighed.

 

She was back out in five minutes, paper-wrapped bundle under one arm and the top of the bottle of flin protruding from the knapsack.  Kala had bought food or drink from the Lockup before.  No one paid her any sort of notice, which was exactly what she wanted on a day like today.  As she passed him she just said,

 

“Home,” and started back down the hill toward Labor Town.

 

The alluring scent of roast scrib in Kala's hands got Ra'kesh's mouth watering.  It was a bit surprising to have such a normal bodily reaction to hunger.  Even so, he didn't really feel like eating.

 

Kala felt increasingly exhausted and disheartened.   _ If I'm this tired from surviving one attack and one argument, how will I ever make it to Drakan-Ka and back?  _ She had imagined it as a lot of walking and some digging, but adding Ra'kesh into the equation seemed to add more weight than it removed.   _ Maybe I just need another few restoratives to take with us.  Keep this at bay.   _ She limited her use of them in day-to-day life.  They were not addictive in the same way that skooma was, generally not pleasurable other than the pleasure of not feeling so tired, but one could become dependent.  She had heard of alchemists who flat could not survive without 200 gold's worth of potions every morning.

 

One or two apparently unemployed young men, one Dunmer, one Bosmer, eyed her as she passed.  She had forgotten the expensive bottle was still visible, gleaming with the distinctive blue stripes of real flin.  Then they eyed the surly scar-nosed Khajiit who was already following her, and let her be.

 

The Khajiit trudged along behind his Orc master.  He kept his eyes on the ground and paid no attention to the city around him.  When Kala stopped in front of her door, he nearly bumped nose-first into her back.

 

Kala stiffened at the feeling of heat on her shoulders, edging over into the doorpost as she glanced back.  One hand made a pass over the handle, causing the lock to click open.  She hurried inside to plunk down the knapsack and pour a couple of jots of flin.  She set one over on the cutting table and took the other to the alchemy bench with her portion of scrib and the bag.  She did not look at Ra'kesh or speak to him other than to keep an eye on his relative position.

 

He noticed that Kala had poured two glasses.  Flin was one thing he was definitely interested in, but the very fact she had poured it even after the day's events was too much for him.  There were too many emotions for him to process and he was tired, both mentally and physically.

 

"Ra'kesh will go to bed," he said simply, heading for the stairs without stopping.

 

"Good idea," Kala said numbly.  She ate less than she planned, and packed the rest back into the paper.  She drank all of her flin.  The bit she had poured out for Ra'kesh she tipped carefully back into the bottle, then put the bottle away.

 

She locked the front door with a spell again, put the glasses into the bucket, and eventually followed the Khajiit upstairs, hoping he would already be in his room and she wouldn't have to see him.  She could feel sweat drying on her skin, and could not imagine sleeping without a bath first.

 

_ Lucky Khajiit.  Creatures with fur do not sweat. _

 

Ra'kesh doubted very much that he would be able to sleep.  Exhausted as he was, it was only after noon and he'd just slept three days straight.  He closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed for a while, not knowing what else to do.  He wasn't used to the absolute boredom that came with a sober life - what in oblivion did people do all day?

 

He could hear Kala moving about.  He relaxed when it became evident she was not going to come to his door.  Ra'kesh fished the trinkets out of his pocket and rolled them around in his hands for a while.  Real hunger was gnawing at him now but he couldn't bring himself to accept Kala's food.

 

Why?

 

He'd robbed completely innocent strangers he had no quarrel with so why couldn't he accept a simple meal bought with gold that was partially his?

 

He pocketed the stolen goods once again and promised he would resolve these questions of morality some other day when his head wasn't pounding.  That's always how it was with Ra'kesh- Someday he'd work out a way to convince himself that everything he did was justified and his victims deserved what was coming to them.  Meanwhile his conscience looked the other way.

 

Ra'kesh removed his shirt and examined the bloodstained hole.  He couldn't care less but it clearly bothered Kala.  He searched the dresser drawers, thinking that perhaps sewing supplies might be stored, but came up with nothing.  He flopped the shirt on the nightstand and climbed into bed.  The mattress embraced his tired body with an otherworldly softness that made him sigh in deep satisfaction.

 

He was out like a snuffed candle within five minutes.

 

Kala took a clean robe and underthings from the closet and dresser and took them to the bathroom to hang on the back of the door.  She stuffed the dirty clothes into the wicker basket with the square lid that served her for a hamper.  She did not start up the boiler before she began pumping water.  It was already hot outside, she felt sticky, and lukewarm water was perfectly fine.

 

Even so, she nearly fell asleep soaking in the water when she had finished washing, sitting with her head against one end of the tub.  She woke up just as her head slipped below the surface.  Kala sat up, spluttering.   _ Drowning while naked is not how I want to leave this world.  Bed! _

 

She dried and dressed herself, combed out her hair a bit less carefully than usual, and wove it into a loose braid.  Then she staggered into the bedroom, shut the door, and leaned on it for a second.  There was no sound from next door.  Perhaps he had gone to sleep himself.  Perhaps he was over there plotting to murder her for taking away his moon sugar.  She waved her hand above the door and listened to the lock click before she went to lie down on top of the coverlet.  Heat wavered outside the green glass window, over the stairs to the roof.  She watched the shifting pattern for a little while.

 

_ I did not fix that shirt.  I'll have to dig out the mending kit tomorrow.  Or tonight.  Probably tomorrow.  I left the new one in the bag.   _ The bag now sat against the wall by the bedroom door.  She hadn't counted the money, either.   _ Later.  If I try it now I'll do it wrong. _

 

_ What happened to me, anyway?  _ She had never had something like that happen, completely lost seconds of her life and found something destroyed afterward -

 

Kala sat bolt upright.

 

_ No.  That does  _ NOT  _ happen to me! It doesn't happen to every orc! _

 

_ It does happen to every orc.   _ She lay back down on her side, sighing.   _ Malacath's broken teeth. _

 

She slept long, and dreamed of blood.

 

Ra'kesh awoke with a headache and a growling stomach.  Judging by the muted light outside that barely made it through the thick glass, it was halfway through sunset.  He listened quietly for a moment but it seemed as if Kala were in bed as well.  He lay staring at the ceiling for several long minutes wondering what to do with himself before finally forcing himself to get up.  Ra'kesh then retrieved the tinder box he'd seen earlier in one of the drawers and lit a candle to take downstairs, along with his shirt.  He opened his door slowly and peeked out to make sure Kala was not around.  Sure enough, her door was shut and probably locked.  He crept downstairs as noiselessly as old Rajhin himself.

 

He found the leftover scrib in one of the same cupboards Ra'kesh had seen opened earlier when Kala made his first meal.  He scarfed it with his bare hands and no plate since no one was around to care about his table manners.  He instantly felt better with food in his stomach and started searching the remaining cupboards for the flin.  He couldn't shake the feeling that he was intruding on Kala's privacy by rummaging through her things, but...  he did live here now.  Most domestic slaves would know their way around their owner's kitchens.

 

Ra'kesh's eyes lit up when he spotted the flin.  He uncorked the bottle and waved it under his nose as if testing a luxury perfume, closing his eyes to revel in the scent of it.  He purred while pouring himself a tall glass and replaced the bottle where he found it.

 

By now the sun had set and it was dark even for a Khajiit.  He lit a few lanterns in the lab and set to looking for a sewing kit, flin in hand.  The room was jam-packed with things Ra'kesh would call clutter, but must have had some importance to an alchemist.  He took a moment to enjoy his flin and examine the many complicated diagrams on the wall.  Ra'kesh was illiterate to begin with, but the drawings made no sense to him either.  A familiar warmth spread through his body as he drained the glass.

 

A couple weeks clean and already a lightweight.  He grinned and got back to work with a spring in his step.

 

The sewing supplies had finally turned up in a bottom drawer.  Ra'kesh selected an old but fairly clean scrap of cloth from one of the work tables to cover the blood stain.  He assumed it wouldn't be missed.

 

His hands trembled when trying to do fine work like threading a needle.  It might have just been the flin.  For the most part, Ra'kesh had to admit that he was over the effects of withdrawal.  He was still thin and weak from months of malnourishment, and he still felt that thirst...  But maybe his physical addiction was ending.

 

Ra'kesh had mixed feelings about this.

 

The patch job was sloppy but adequate.  He spent the rest of the evening washing the dishes and straightening things that possibly did not need to be straightened.  But he was bored and slightly drunk.  After a few hours he blew out the lanterns and returned to his room, not trying so hard to be quiet this time, intending to go back to bed.  The flin in his system would make it easy to sleep.

 

Kala awoke in the early morning, gasping.  She had been standing in a river of blood across from Ra'kesh, the Khajiit saying reassuringly, "First time not easy." She shuddered as she sat up, looking around at the safe and ordinary room.

 

_ Yesterday was a bad day.  Today will be better.  Let us hold onto that thought. _

 

She got up and put on a more suitable day robe, a plain gray over a dark green, then slipped on her soft shoes and went to get the knapsack and go quietly downstairs.  Ra'kesh's door was closed.  Perhaps he was still sleeping.

 

To her surprise, the main room was neater than she had left it.  The dishes were done, her books were straightened up where they had fallen over, and the chairs were pushed in.  One of her cleaning patches was gone, but whatever he wanted with that, he was welcome to it.

 

Some of the scrib was gone as well.  He must have risen during the night and been hungry.  Struck by a sudden thought, she checked the flin.  He had had some of that, too.   _ It will probably do him more good than harm, and at least he's eating. _

 

She served herself some cold scrib and a piece of dry bread from the cupboard with a glass of water, then took the knapsack over to the alchemy table to re-inventory its contents.  The new shirt came out first.  She hung it on the back of the chair over by the kitchen area.  Next came the two bags of slightly crushed alchemy ingredients, and she spent a few moments sorting them out into their proper jars to dry.  The Make-Me-Faster she set on the shelf with her other potions.  It no longer even smelled of sujamma, now.

 

Then she set to counting the money, laying out the coins in little stacks of ten.

 

"Twenty...  Thirty...  Forty…"

 

Ra'kesh slept fitfully, waking several times in the night and only going back to sleep because there was nothing else to do.  Several times he considered going downstairs and finishing off the flin, but that probably wouldn't make him popular with Kala.  When morning finally came he had already given up on sleeping.  He didn't want to go downstairs and face Kala or this new life he'd been forced into, but the sheer boredom was driving him mad.  He put on his patched shirt and went down to meet the inevitable.

 

Kala was counting the bandit's gold when Ra'kesh entered.  Rather than interrupt her with a greeting, he pulled out the dining chair and sat down to watch.  

 

The orc glanced up as Ra'kesh came in, noting the patch on his shirt.   _ Ah, so he found the mending kit.   _ That was unusually helpful of him, but then, so was doing the dishes.

 

"Two hundred fifty, two hundred sixty..." She ended up at three hundred and twenty.  She nudged the gold into two piles and turned to face Ra'kesh.

 

"Good morning.  A hundred and sixty of this is yours, fairly.  I'm going to put it into this bag." She bundled it into one of the bags as she spoke.  "I'm not going to give it to you to carry, because I can't trust you yet, but you have my word that I will not spend it, and if you see something that you want to buy, I will not question your desire to do so." She took one of her jars down, dipped her finger in the jar of armor blacking that had been at the bottom of the sack, and wrote a rough R on it with her finger.  She wiped her hand on a cloth not dissimilar to the one now forming a patch on Ra'kesh's shirt.

 

"You can have the water skin as well.  It won't hurt to have an extra once we're out in Dagon Fel.  Do you want the dagger?" She had heard that some Khajiit used only their claws for weapons, but she was unlikely to forget the sight of him stabbing the bandit in the throat with his own crossbow bolt.

 

Ra'kesh kept his face impassive but watched the gold being put away with deep longing and regret.  The items he had robbed were still in his pockets, and here she was just giving away gold that he had no legal rights to.  But ironically, the only things he wanted to buy were things she would not allow.

 

“Yes, Ra'kesh can use dagger..  But is this all Mistress has? Seems there should be more preparation with weapons and armor on dangerous trip.  Bandits use ruins as hide outs, Mistress surely knows.” He spoke evenly, relieved that the troubles of yesterday seemed to be forgotten.

 

"You can use your share on some armor and a better weapon, if you think it will help," she said, carrying the bag with the letter on it over to put into one of the big travel knapsacks against the wall.  She attached the other money bag to her belt.  "I don't have the skill to wear it, so for me there is no point.  I'm better off shielding myself with magic and not being weighed down.  I have my staff for a weapon, if magic fails me.  It's all I really know how to use."

 

She offered him the dagger hilt-first.

 

He flicked an ear back, awkwardly remembering how he would have shot her yesterday if the crossbow had been in his hands at the time.  He gingerly accepted the dagger, tucking it into his belt.

 

“Ra'kesh has never worn armor either,” he admitted.  “Khajiit is better served by speed and free range of movement.  It is just that...  Bandit situation was handled poorly.  Mistress need magic to kill quickly.  If there had been more men, Khajiit and Orc both would be dead now.”

 

“I see.” She nodded seriously.  It was a good thing, Kala thought wryly, that she was not as proud as Ra'kesh, or she would have thrown a tantrum at the suggestion that she was anything less than a mighty warrior.

 

“Well, I can spend my share on a new spell.  There's one I've been meaning to get Estirdalan to teach me, but I ran out of money.  She's the Balmora Guild's expert on the school of Destruction,” she explained.  “How do you feel about climbing the hill again today?”

 

“That is fine with Ra'kesh,” He answered eagerly.  “More collecting?”

 

She eyed him warily.  "I suppose we might as well.  If we're going to the Guild anyway, we'll be close to the gate.  Then I can practice my new spell outside of town, where it won't be dangerous to other people.  Eat food first, though.  It'll be a long walk."

 

“Of course.  Has Mistress eaten yet?”

 

"Oh yes, I'm fine, thanks," she said, peering at a jar.  

 

Ra'kesh scurried over to the kitchen and clanged around searching for the pan and kwama eggs.  He usually ate things cold or raw, being a transient with no kitchen of his own up till now.  But he'd watched Kala do it yesterday, how hard could it be? He smacked an egg against the pan, splattering half of it over the side on the counter.  His ears flattened.  Did Kala see that? He scooped the goopy yolk into the pan with his hand, along with some fragments of shell.  Good enough.

 

“Does mistress have anything to light oven when pyromaniac powers are exhausted?”

 

Kala was digging out the alchemy sacks again, pretending ardently not to have seen anything.  She stood up straight and looked at him, dumbfounded, as she registered the second thing he had said.

 

"When would they ever - ?  Well, I suppose that's not impossible.  I do have a tinder box here somewhere.  It might be in the drawer next to the stove - oh, wait.  That was a joke." She shook her head.

 

“Many thanks.” It was just where she said it would be.  He lit the stove and set to frying his eggs.  He hadn't used any oil and a faint burning stench filled the air after a few minutes.  He pushed the egg around with an earthenware spoon, trying to figure out why it stuck to the pan so easily.  After a while he deemed it was good enough, and scraped his somewhat mushy, half-burned eggs onto a plate.  He wolfed it down standing in the kitchen and only had to pick eggshells out of his mouth a couple times.  He left the plate and pan in the sink to be washed later.

 

Ra'kesh decided the spare water skin would be a good thing to take along today.  He rinsed that out several times before filling it and tying it to his belt by the cord.  No telling what diseases a dirty human might have.

 

Kala coughed as she watched him tie on the waterskin.  "I should've told you, there's some shalk oil in the cupboard for the pan.  My fault, really." She fanned the front door a couple of times on their way out, then locked it as they had done before.

 

It was earlier in the morning than their previous outing, the sun hardly over the horizon.  Fishermen were busy at the river, and the bakeries were already hard at work, but the laundries and other businesses were still warming up, steam drifting under their closed doors.  She turned earlier this time, heading up a narrower, steeper alley that would take them more directly to the Guild.

 

Ra'kesh enjoyed the lack of crowded streets.  It was much easier walking in public without a bunch of gawkers inspecting him like a new amulet.  (Even though people had paid him little attention, in Ra'kesh's imagination he was forever being judged and scrutinized by Dunmer.) He walked side by side with Kala rather than behind her.

 

Kala glanced up at him once, but did not comment.  Her posture was more relaxed as they moved up the hill.  She had not been sure if he would continue to to trail resentfully behind or not, even after he had seemed so cheerful this morning.

 

It was too early for most of the unemployed loiterers, though a tall Nord with an amazing array of tattoos, including a bear's paw in blue across his face, grinned at them from an alley-mouth as they passed.  He was leaning against a wall in the sun, beefy arms folded on his chest.  He wore a buttoned pale linen tunic over a dark green undershirt and common hide trousers, heavy boots travel-stained.  Kala nodded at him absently as she went on, trying to recall if she'd seen him before.


	5. Chapter 5

Ra'kesh eyed the Nord curiously.  He seemed the kind of person worth chatting to if one were looking for underground connections in the city.  Unfortunately, Ra'kesh doubted he'd be allowed out of Kala's sight for more than a minute.  He shrugged it off and regarded Kala with a cheeky smile.

 

“Ra'kesh was thinking about how to spend his gold.  Does Balmora have whorehouse? Mistress must do big favor for Ra'kesh and wait outside, otherwise he will miss the best part,” he sniggered.

 

“Oh, no,” Kala said sweetly.  “If you go in, I'm going in, too.  I know at least one establishment that has not only ladies of easy virtue, but men.  Maybe it'll improve your temper.”

 

At the top of the hill the alley opened out into a wider street, with the familiar shop-front on the left and the guilds on the right.  Kala turned toward the Mages Guild, walking under the sign of the single eye.  Unlike the shops with their painted banners, the guilds had signs carved of wood, and the eye showed signs of wear and weather; it had hung there for a long time.

 

Ra'kesh chuckled at the unexpected response.

 

“So she has a sense of humor after all.”

 

“She tries.”

 

He glanced apprehensively at the universal symbol of mages upon the sign.  Unsurprisingly, they managed to pick something which was just as creepy as it was mysterious.  He absently scratched under his mane while eyeing the shops up and down the street- armorers, booksellers, clothiers, and probably more around the corner.

 

“Hmm..  Mistress shall be a while learning this spell, correct? Would it be all right if Ra'kesh looks around the shops nearby? Perhaps he shall find something useful for the journey.  Shops are very close by, Khajiit will not wander far.” He spoke casually as if not caring what the answer was either way, although truth be told, he did not fancy being in the presence of mages.  They had an air of superiority about them that bothered him even when he was free; he could only imagine how they'd look down their noses at a slave.

 

Kala paused to listen to his suggestion, hand on the door.  “All right, go ahead.  I'll be a few minutes.  Learning a spell by transfer can be a bit…” She stopped, waving a hand vaguely.  He had no reason to care.  “Right.  Go ahead.”

 

“Many thanks.  Khajiit will come back long before Mistress has finished.  No worries.” He smiled and watched Kala enter the guild.  

 

She pushed the door open and went into the dimmer interior, lit by lamps and as windowless as many of Balmora's buildings tended to be.  Ranys Athrys glanced up from the desk inside the front door, raising a black eyebrow at her.

 

“Oh, it's you, Wizard.  Welcome back.  I don't suppose you ever did get to Tel Aruhn?”

 

“Oh.  Yes, I did, I just -” She stopped talking again.  Telling the local Guild-head  _ I forgot that I did your stupid errand because I bought a slave who has absorbed all of my attention since  _ probably would not go over well.  “I did talk to him.  He said yes, it's incomplete, but the fragment he has just adds 'but the dremora are themselves black souls if one attempts the spell in Cyrodiil.'”

 

“Mm.  Well, that's mildly helpful.  Don't let me keep you.” She took out a notebook and began writing.  Kala shrugged and followed the long ramp with its pale blue lamps down to the lower level.

 

This was where most of Balmora's mages did most of their work.  It was a broad, square room, with rows of benches and lecterns at one side for teaching, and a cubicle with bunks and closets on the other.  Sharn gra-Muzgrub with her shelves of restoratives occupied the corner opposite the bunks.  As usual, the Orc was busy about her work, presently muttering over what appeared to be a human or merish skull covered in runes.  Some of the mages were attending a lecture on what sounded like conjuration; some were paging through the books piled on the tables beside the lecture areas.  At the center of the wall opposite the platform was the doorway to the alcove that held the alchemy benches and the guild transportation platform.

 

As luck would have it, the Altmer Estirdalin was not at lecture.  She was walking briskly back and forth across the main floor, fists clenched, muttering to herself.

 

“First the vision, then the conjuration.  This is unsettling.”

 

The High Elf wore her white hair in a high bun, and while she wore a pair of shawls draped over her narrow shoulders and hips, both they and her green robe were simple and plain.  Kala stepped forward to intercept her.

 

“Master Wizard Estirdalin?”

 

The mer stopped to stare down at her blankly for a moment, then nodded.  “Oh yes, Wizard gra-Nend.  What can I do for you?”

 

“I need a spell that can kill in one casting, quickly.  Can you still teach me Poison?”

 

Estirdalin lifted a white eyebrow.  “Are you contemplating a murder?”

 

Kala shook her head.  “I'm still going to Dagon Fel for my expedition.  It's been brought to my attention that my current spell set is not combat-efficient.”

 

“Well,  _ that's  _ probably true.  You're an alchemist.  Do you have 150 drakes?”

 

Kala wordlessly detached her purse and held it out.  The Altmer took it and weighed it thoughtfully in one hand, then hung it on her own belt.

 

“All right, fair enough.  Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way, bearing in mind that this is an orison of Destruction?”

 

“I don't have time for the easy way,” said Kala.

 

“I thought not.  Hold still, then.” Estirdalin clamped a hand onto her shoulder.  The elf's lips moved silently as her eyes narrowed to slits.  For a moment there was nothing; then power jolted through Kala's body, head to toe, like lightning striking but with the irresistibly sour feeling of a poison spell.  She felt venom in her blood and bones, seeping into every particle, every hair, every inch of skin.  It hurt with the indefinably  _ wrong  _ pain of a sore tooth, or a fever-ache, and it seemed to go on forever.  When it finally dissipated as suddenly as it had come she was on her knees, the elf leaning over her as she trembled.

 

“Do you have that?” Estirdalin asked cheerfully.

 

“I think… so…?” Kala lifted one hand, opening and closing the fingers.  Green mist puffed out around them, then dissipated.

 

“Good girl.  Here, you'll be right as rain in a couple of minutes.  Come sit down.  I suppose I should've had you do that to start with.” She offered a hand.  Kala took it (not without a glance to make sure Sharn wasn't watching) and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.  She was still shaking.  It would be a good few minutes before she could walk straight enough to leave.

 

As soon as the door clicked firmly shut behind Kala, Ra'kesh turned on his pads and retreated down the hill for the alley they had passed just before.  Surely the big Nord had not been further than fifty yards away, although he was cutting it dangerously close.  He hoped that there would be some kind of warning.  Perhaps he would grow progressively weaker rather than being knocked out instantly.

 

It didn't really matter.  He had no reputation to tarnish if he were caught.   Kala already knew what he was.

 

The Nord was still there, humming a tune to himself.  It was a religious hymn to Almsivi, in fact.  Each verse delineated some feature or particular glory of one member of the three, and the chorus went  _ Praise Almsivi, Almsivi is Mighty _ up and down a series of ascending and descending chords.  Without another person he didn't have someone to hum the bass line that went  _ CHIM… CHIM… CHIM… _

 

He glanced up as the Khajiit approached, then looked around for the Orc.  No Orc appeared.  “You're back.  Something I can help you with? Usually it's not slaves that want to buy my services, but I'm not averse if you've got the coin.”

 

Ra'kesh's ears swiveled, checking for eavesdroppers, but the street appeared to be otherwise deserted.  He gave a friendly smile to the Nord and did not even flinch when his status was mentioned.

 

“A very shrewd businessman Sir Nord surely is.  Khajiit is new in town and unfamiliar with the local specialties.  Does Muthsera sell skooma, or moon sugar if not? This one has coin, yes, although not at the moment,” he said regrettably, cursing his short-sightedness for leaving the gold at home.  He paused for a moment, glancing to the side.  “...Khajiit also has fine enchanted jewelry to trade or sell, if Muthsera is in this business as well.”

 

The Nord raised a blond eyebrow.  "If you want drugs or a fence you should check at the South Wall Cornerclub.  It's across the river, East side of town.  If you're looking to sneak goods or yourself into Skyrim, I'm your man.  You're not one of Bjalfi's, are you?"

 

Ra'kesh's face fell.

 

“No,” he sighed.  “This one does not know Bjalfi; as he says, he is quite new here.  But is this Bjalfi someone worth knowing?” His tail flicked in irritation.

 

“To you, probably not.  Now shove off, I'm waiting for my contact, and it's obviously not you.”

 

The Nord looked away from him and resumed humming under his breath.

 

Ra'kesh narrowed his eyes at the man, but said nothing.  Instead he nodded curtly and turned away.  He considered going around the corner and eavesdropping on whatever deal was about to go down, but if it didn't involve drugs, it probably wasn't worth his time.  His claws dug into his palms as he made his way back up the hill.

 

He came back to the shops and looked around at the signs, but there was nothing he wanted.  As if he'd spend any precious gold on supplies for someone else's meaningless research! He thumped his back against a stone column that made part of the archway outside the Mages Guild and crossed his arms, glaring at the empty street.

 

Kala emerged from the Guild, walking a little unevenly, and squinted as the daylight hit.  She looked around.  There was Ra'kesh, leaning on one of the support pillars and looking surly again.  She wondered if he'd tried to buy drugs somewhere and been turned down.

 

_ That's not fair to him.  Perhaps someone was rude, or pushed him out of the way or something.  A lot of Dunmer treat slaves as less than people.  Besides, surely he wouldn't again so soon after what happened yesterday. _

 

“Did you find what you wanted?” she asked.  “I need to try my spell out, and we might as well try to find some hackle-lo before we go home.” As she spoke she turned toward the city's main gate.  The further she walked, the steadier she was; she still had the feeling that her bones were made of poison, but it was gradually fading as she completed her absorption of the spell.

 

Ra'kesh smiled tightly when Kala appeared.  It did not reach his eyes.

 

“No...  Some interesting items, but nothing Ra'kesh wants badly enough,” he said simply.  He fell in behind Kala and snapped out of his self-pitying thoughts long enough to notice her awkward gait.  Come to think of it, she was also a bit pale.

 

“Is Mistress all right?” he asked with genuine concern, catching up to her again.

 

He didn't look happy to see her.  Maybe it was drugs after all.  She shot him a surprised glance at his question.

 

“I'm all right.  Everyone walks a bit funny after they've learned a spell the hard way.  The master mage has to transfer it to you directly by touch, and until it's settled in it feels a bit odd.  You can pick them up from written descriptions instead, eventually, but it takes hours of study, and I want to start out day after tomorrow.  I've still got enough left to cover our boat and strider fares out to Dagon Fel.”

 

There were guards on this gateway, but there was much more traffic in and out than the river gate, and these did not know Kala by sight.  They nodded indifferently as the Orc and the Khajiit passed by.

 

Ra'kesh stopped dead as if he'd walked straight into a brick wall.

 

Kala realized she was walking alone a few steps out of town.  She stopped to look around, then waited for the Khajiit to catch up.  She eyed him sideways as they went on.  Once again, she had the uncomfortable feeling that, without telepathy, she still knew the Khajiit's thoughts.

 

“Two days?” he repeated uneasily.  He forced his legs to get moving again.  In just two days he'd be cut off completely from any chance to acquire skooma...  the thought made his stomach tie itself up in knots.  He clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the ground as they walked.  He wanted to be peppy, but this day was getting worse and worse.

 

“How long does Mistress expect to be gone?” he finally asked.

 

“Drakan-Ka is supposedly two days' journey out of Dagon Fel, it's just well hidden.  If it's possible to get inside, it shouldn't take more than another day or so to find the Engine.  Then I'll need to spend some time making notes and etchings.  I don't know how long that part will take.  It has to be detailed enough that I can convince other mages I'm not just making it up.  Then I'll devise a test or experiment to see what it does, probably spend another day or so on that… If everything goes well, at least a week.  I can Recall us back here instantaneously when it's time to come home and start putting together a book.  I've already been to see Dorisa Darvel, and she knows a bookbinder who would put it together for me before I offer my findings to the Guild.”

 

If the Engine existed, and worked, they would want to send out a larger expedition, of course.  She was less certain what they would do with such a device.  That was why she aimed to publish before reporting; it would be much harder for Ranys or someone like her to steal a lower ranking mage's research and deny her credit if it was already public.

 

Traffic thinned as they moved further up the road away from town.  Kala looked up at the sun, squinting again, then moved off the road toward the West, away from the river and toward the looming hills.

 

“Ra'kesh forgot that she can do this.  Very useful,” he replied, feeling slightly better.  A week sober was agonizing, but it could be worse.

 

“It can be,” Kala agreed.  

 

The Khajiit’s ears turned to a muffled thump past a thick patch of chokeweed.  He threw up his hand, signaling Kala to wait, and quietly approached the bushes.  He parted the thin branches with his hands to reveal a pale scrib scratching at the ground with its first set of spindly legs.  It paused only slightly to acknowledge Ra'kesh before continuing on its business, unafraid of the large strangers.

 

“Mistress could practice spell on this,” he suggested, holding still so as not to alarm the creature and receive a blast of paralyzing poison.

 

She stopped when Ra'kesh put up a hand, bouncing on the balls of her feet.  She was already raising a hand to cast her shield when she saw the scrib.  A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.   _ And you thought it was a bandit. _

 

“Good idea, but you'd better move.  The spell has a five foot radius.  It would take out you, the bush and the scrib all together, unless you've got some Argonian blood in you somewhere.”

 

Ra'kesh snapped off the chokeweed branch he was holding, to give Kala a clearer shot, and backed away until he was behind her.

 

“It is poison?” he asked, arching a brow.  “This one hopes Mistress knows an antidote spell as well.”

 

“Of course I do.  Cure Poison is an  _ easy  _ spell.  When that comes up I usually use potions instead, though.  Saves magicka.” She looked at the scrib, took a deep breath, and made a fist of her left hand, then rapidly spread the fingers as she forced it out toward the creature.  Venom revolved behind her eyes, a bitterness to kill the world.

 

A blast of greenish-yellow shot from her hand to the scrib, exploding into a five-foot cloud of poison.  The creature flipped onto its back, writhing and screeching, then gurgled and kicked its legs once before folding them tightly against its body.  A final shudder, and it was still.  Around it, the chokeweed withered and shriveled up, crumbling into fragments of dead vegetation.

 

Ra'kesh's eyes widened at the ugly death.  He felt slightly guilty for volunteering the creature as a test subject.  He waited for every trace of the poison cloud to dissipate before approaching the shriveled gray bushes and picking up the Scrib by the legs.

 

“This is safe to eat, correct? Poison from magicka does not linger in the body as a physical poison would?” He untied the waterskin from his belt, looped the cord around one of the scrib's curled legs, and reattached it so both hung from his side.  He would crack open the carapace and scoop out the succulent jelly at home.

 

“I er… That's right.  It's safe.” She was a bit taken aback at it herself, yellow eyes wide.  “Ye gods, I hope I don't have to use that on a person.” And yet she felt better, stronger and more certain; once the spell had passed through her it no longer felt foreign.  For better or worse, it was a part of her now.

 

“Probably not, there are few people up north,” he reassured her.  He decided not to mention that Dagon Fel was a prime location for artifact smugglers.  Surely, a researcher of Dwemer technology must already know.

 

“Just as well.”  She offered Ra'kesh one of the canvas bags.  “I need hackle-lo.  They look sort of like comberry at the bottom, but the top is spiky green leaves.  Sort of a short, bushy tree.  There's one there.” She pointed a few feet away.

 

Ra'kesh accepted a bag and set to collecting.  It was another nice day.  The gentle breeze brought a scent of sweet heather and fresh water from the river below the hills.  Ra'kesh was still weak, yet growing stronger.  His appetite was back, he no longer shook like a newborn…  Yet one minute he was feeling fine and making jokes, and the next minute he was so angry and frustrated at everything.  He sighed and wished with deep regret to be back in the days when a hangover from a wild night was his only trouble in the world.

 

Ra'kesh paused to rest for a moment.  From their high vantage point over the Odai, he could see a guar-led cart traveling along the river path.  Three figures followed the cart in single-file, shackled together.  From this distance Ra'kesh could only make out that they were betmer from their tails, but not which race.

 

More of his kin marching to their doom.  He watched them silently as they passed, sorrow in his golden eyes.

 

Kala moved about looking for hackle-lo among the comberry and heather.  It was like him, she thought, to toss off something that might make her feel better, make her easier to live with until the next time he saw his chance.  Or perhaps she was just tired.  Learning a spell was harder than many castings.

 

She was preoccupied with this line of thought when she noticed the Khajiit standing unmoving at the edge of the slope, looking down toward the river.  The set of his ears was different than she had ever seen, and she went softly to see what he was looking at.

 

Their fates would be worse than his.  Instead of dancing around a reluctant mistress trying to get skooma, they would probably spend miserable lives farming saltrice, or cleaning Hlaalu houses and shops, or risking death by firedamp to keep the sewers clear.  A very lucky and attractive one might become the love-toy of some rich buyer, have all that they were willing to sell themselves for until their looks faded and they were passed down to housekeeper in favor of someone younger and prettier.

 

_ A man should be free. _

 

She regretted anew that she had ever bought him.  But the reasons for her purchase held; and she still meant to release him when her work was done.  She was increasingly less happy with that choice, because whatever parting money he had, she knew he would use it to kill himself slowly; but the ability to choose wrongly was part and parcel of the ability to choose.

 

"I'm sorry," she said, without going into detail, and turned back to gathering herbs.

 

The next day or so was uneventful.  She finished up her brewing, filling every slot in her shoulder-belt of little potion vials, and did not stir far from the little house in Labor Town.  She slept much, ate moderately, and shared her flin with Ra'kesh, cup for cup.

 

The morning of Morndas that she had set for their departure dawned warm and bright.  Kala got up and put on her base tunic and leggings of soft homespun, then the most durable of her robes that was not already at the bottom of a knapsack, a thing of dark blue linen.  She had bought a pair of sturdier leather walking shoes and broken them in carefully just for this, and now she put them on, hopping slightly as she fit the leather over her heel.

 

She went to get her set of rings, silently counting them off.  Slowfall, Almsivi Intervention, Water walking, Water Breathing, minor Shock, Light...  After a moment she realized what was wrong.  He must've put them back.  She felt a lump in her throat for a moment, then swallowed it away.  Now was not the time to get sentimental.  Perhaps someone had just told him they weren't worth more than 10 drakes each.

 

Downstairs she cleaned out the cupboard, yawning.  She had bought food a day before, and they would be eating the remnants of scrib jelly, scuttle, bread, and some half-wilted greens before setting out.  She filled her water skins at the pump up in the bathroom when she had eaten, then went to check the knapsacks over for anything missing or lacking.

 

Ra'kesh woke with a black dread in the pit of his stomach.  He'd done his best to be helpful and chipper over the last two days, but this trip terrified him.  He didn't know if he was strong enough for it and showing weakness in front of Kala was unacceptable to him.

 

He forced himself to rise from bed and pulled the handsome green shirt from the top drawer of his dresser.  He hadn't worn it yet.  He'd bought himself a set of extravagant clothes the first time he got a large cut of loot back when he first signed up on the Farihki, but as far as he could remember he'd never owned a new piece of clothing since then.  Mostly he spent his money on booze, women, and moon sugar, while his clothes came from the dead.  Not only was this new, but it had been a gift..  more or less.

 

He pulled the shirt on over his head and shook his floofy mane out of the neck hole.  His nose twitched at the pleasant scent of clean linen.  He quickly combed his face and neck with the kagouti horn grooming kit - another luxury he was unaccustomed to in recent years - and headed downstairs with the kit in hand, to add to his travel pack.

 

He ate his breakfast in nervous silence and watched Kala flit around the house attending to last minute details.

 

“Oh, good, you're wearing your new shirt,” she said, as she finished strapping up the second knapsack.  She went to get the refuse bottle from the alchemy table and scooted upstairs to pour the contents down the drains.  It smelled harsh and chemical, stinging the eyes and nose.  It would have lost its potency before they came back, but hopefully it would last long enough to keep insects from nesting in the bends.

 

As she came back down she was surprised to realize her heart was pounding.  She had been looking forward to this day for weeks, even months.   _ My first real academic expedition, without a professor looking over my shoulder, without other students competing with me and sniping at the stupid Orc.   _ She had just enough to pay for passage, and she double-checked her little purse as she went to hoist up the knapsack and get her staff.  The pack was a solid, heavy weight on her back, and they would have a long couple of days' travel even via boat and strider.

 

“There are strength fortifiers in the little pocket on the left side,” she said to Ra'kesh.  “Take one now and every hour or so, when you start to feel things get heavier.  We'll need to be alert when we arrive, not sore and exhausted.” As she spoke she took one of the tiny vials from the pocket of her own knapsack and downed it.  The weight of the pack grew substantially lighter.   _ I can be the strongest woman in the world… for an hour at a time.   _ She had spent many hours of effort herbing and brewing and squirreling away enough potions to make this trip feasible long before she had bought Ra'kesh.

 

Ra'kesh had tested the weight of his pack already (when Kala wasn't looking) but he again hoisted the thing onto his back just to see how heavy it was.  Not too bad standing still, but it would be taxing quickly during a hike.  He retrieved a potion and gulped it down without arguing.  Energy rippled through his muscles.

 

“Ra'kesh wonders how often alchemists become dependent on their own potions,” he mused, flexing his scrawny arms.  The power was nearly intoxicating.

 

"It happens," Kala said.  "They're mostly not physically addictive, but it's very easy to get too used to being very strong, very fast, very attractive to other people, whatever is wanting in your life.  My first tutor told me never to take a potion without a specific task in mind, or you'll end up having to take them to get up in the morning."

 

His dagger and water skin were both at his side.  He had little else to worry about; Kala had prepared everything.  He didn't even know what all she had in her bag, although he did look through his just out of curiosity.  

 

The bag held more potions (all neatly labeled in ink along the bases), another water skin, a bedroll strapped to the bottom, several pounds of dried fruit and scrip pemmican, a bag of powdered soap, a roll of gauze, a coiled rope, a short spade, a larger spade that folded in the middle, a pickaxe, what looked like a shaving-brush, a couple of short picks the wrong shape for locks, two books with blank pages, a third book that contained writing in a strange language and sketches of Dwemer devices, a very sturdy sealed bottle of ink with a metal frame over it to keep it from breaking, and several quills.

 

He had his gold as well, but something told him it wouldn't be of much use in Dagon Fel.

 

“So..  the intrepid adventurers are ready to go?” Ra'kesh asked nervously.

 

She looked around at the house, the dishes done up, the laundry put away, the alchemy things tucked up neatly on their shelves.

 

"I think we're ready," she said.  "Let's go."

 

She carefully locked the door after them, and they set off up the hill toward the Commercial District.  As they talked she explained their route to the Khajiit.

 

"The Guild guide will teleport us to Sadrith Mora.  From there we'll take a boat to Dagon Fel.  Teleportation is instantaneous, but we'll be two days at sea.  I suppose if you were a pirate you don't get seasick, at least.  That will be a blessing."

 

“Ra'kesh feels quite at home on sea,” he said.  “It has been many years though.” As they walked he looked back at Kala's neighborhood wistfully.  He had later learned through casual conversation that the South Wall Cornerclub was, in fact, only two streets over from Kala's house.  This whole time he had been so painfully close to the object of his desires and now he was leaving.

 

For some reason Ra'kesh couldn't shake the feeling that he was looking at these streets for the last time.  Maybe he would find a way to escape, maybe he would die, or maybe he just wasn't used to the idea of having a home to return to.  Either way, he kept this gloomy idea to himself.

 

“This one is quite happy that Mistress will not be taking the strider.  Ra'kesh imagines those long legs could snap at any time and send passengers to their death.  Riding inside such a creature is not natural,” he shuddered.  He'd only taken a strider once, and the control rods sticking out of its exposed brains were disturbing even to him.

 

“I knew someone who fell out of a Strider once,” she said.  “He survived, but he broke his leg.  Was stuck out in the wilderness eating willow anthers for two days before someone from the Guild went looking for their missing apprentice.  I try to avoid it if I can.” She was completely oblivious to Ra'kesh's subdued glances back, lost in the excitement of the day.

 

Ranys Athrys glared at them as Kala started to march past her desk.

 

“Are you bringing a  _ slave  _ in here?”

 

“It's not against the rules,” Kala said.  “We're just here to use the guild guide.  It'll only be a minute.” She felt her palms sweating as she remembered the incident with the guard, silently praying Ra'kesh would let it go.  If he really make Athrys angry she could flat kill him and get off with no penalty worse than paying Kala his stated value; and Athrys had been a Master Wizard for decades, it was rumored.  It would not be difficult for her.

 

Ra'kesh glanced impassively at the Dunmer woman in her fancy robe.  Another snotty elf with a superiority complex.  He scratched at his ear and shook his mane as he passed her, knowing full well that some of his tawny hairs were floating to the floor.

 

“Mistress, Khajiit has fleas again,” he said apologetically, smoothing out his mane and brushing more loose hairs onto the floor.

 

“All right, fine, go.” Ranys waved them on irritably.

 

Kala snorted helplessly as she heard Ra'kesh, then glared at him as she hurried down the ramp.  Behind them, Ranys made a disgusted noise.

 

“You  _ cough  _ bastard,” she hissed at him, trying desperately not to laugh.  “Do you want to get me  _ hee ahem  _ thrown out of the Guild?”

 

Ra'kesh waved a hand dismissively.

 

“Mistress worries too much.  Mages are not  _ that _ uptight.  It is Ra'kesh who would suffer in any case.” He grinned at her and said the next words in a hushed tone.  “Besides, soon enough Mistress Kala will be the one they grovel to, no?”

 

The narrow hallway opened into the main room and Ra'kesh stopped to look around.  Although he knew little of Mages and their tools, he knew that anything found in their possession was invariably something of high value.  His eyes surveyed the ancient, leather-bound books, glittering soul gems and complicated alchemical equipment in the room like a housewife in the marketplace who knew to pick the freshest and ripest of fruits.

 

He noted that the guild members were quite diverse, not all Dunmer as he would have expected.  A fellow Khajiit hurried about attending to her duties.  He avoided looking at her directly, not wishing to see pity in her eyes.  He followed Kala to the transporter, remembering how unremarkable it felt to teleport.

 

“Oh good, we're back to being optimistic,” she said dryly.  No one would ever grovel to a Wizard-ranked mage, unless she decided to start taking on apprentices.  Given her track record managing one person who literally could not run away, it was probably better not to take that on.

 

She led the way back to the alcove where Masalinie Merian stood next to the round platform.  The dark-haired Breton wore a brown velvet robe decorated with a rich green tabard and a jeweled belt, marking the high status of a Guild Guide.  Her posture was chipper and alert, hands folded in front of her and shoulders back.

 

“Looks as though you're ready for a long trip, Wizard,” she greeted Kala cheerfully.

 

“Yes, to Sadrith Mora,” Kala said.  “I need some ingredients that can't be found locally.”

 

“You need a slave and two bags for an alchemy outing?” She eyed the Khajiit curiously.

 

“Erm… they might be heavy?” she suggested.

 

“All right, keep it to yourself, then,” said Masalinie mildly, as Kala offered her the small bag into which she had parceled out their 20 drake travel fee.  The slender Breton waved them up onto the platform.  “I'll have you there in two ticks.”

 

“Thank you,” said Kala, as the guide began gesturing.  Enough power was being discharged that she could feel it physically.  It raised the hairs on the back of her neck, tingling up her spine.


	6. Chapter 6

Ra'kesh closed his eyes as the magical energy enveloped him. He certainly wasn't nervous.. He just didn't want to be disoriented by the light. He felt a slight breeze against his fur as his body displaced the air. When he opened his eyes he was looking at a room full of strangers in another guild hall thousands of miles away while wisps of Magicka faded in the air around him. He stepped down from the platform and wondered what would happen if someone else had been standing in this spot at the same moment they teleported. Maybe he was better off not knowing.

Kala looked around as she stepped off the platform. She had been to the Wolverine Hall guild before, but it had been some time. There were definitely fewer people here. She nodded politely to the Guide as she stepped down. It was a broad, square room of stone, with a great rug under the main business table across the room, shelves, and benches, really too much floor space for the number of people who seemed to occupy it. There were no bunks. Everyone must sleep in their own quarters in the Hall or out in town.

The Guide nodded back, but this one did not know her; she stepped out briskly without anyone asking where she was going. The door out of the Guild led into a stone corridor with a long spiral stair.

"It's easy to get lost in here. I just try to remember to turn by the door to the Imperial Cult shrine," she explained as she headed down the stairs. It would be a short walk to the boat, and then a long ride to Dagon Fel. She was not subject to sea-sickness, and going to sea was always interesting to Kala. There were birds she had never seen elsewhere that would follow the boat, and sometimes if she watched over the rail long enough, she would glimpse a dreugh following them, alien and impassive face upturned to watch them pass.

As much as Ra'kesh hated Dunmer, he couldn't help but be impressed by the Telvanni mushroom towers that stood tall in the sky with walkway-tendrils wrapped gracefully around them. They passed living archways molded by magicka and bulbous pod houses the likes of which existed nowhere else in Tamriel. Some of the beauty was lost on him, as it did bring back memories of the Tel Ahrun slave pens. He had lain shaking in the filthy cage for days as withdrawal seized him, too feverish to fully understand what was happening at times. The cries of his fellow slaves had been a constant companion then. Ra'kesh shuddered at the memory.

The port outside the city was pleasantly familiar to Ra'kesh. Although the typical wooden docks were replaced by curling tendrils, everything else was as it should be. A crowd of workers loading cargo mixed with travelers coming to and fro, and local fishers yelling at passersby to come see their catches of the day. Everyone was too absorbed in their own business to pay any mind to an Orc and her slave.

Ra'kesh spotted a well dressed Altmer standing still among the flurry of moving bodies, like a ship in the eye of a hurricane. The mer was examining a map and not paying attention to his surroundings. Ra'kesh altered his course and bumped into the Altmer as they passed.

“Excuse this slave, Muthsera,” he said demurely with lowered eyes. The man “hmphed” and brushed off his shirt as if something dirty had touched him. He might have said something but Ra'kesh was already moving away and there was little reason to make a fuss over being bumped in such a crowded area. Ra'kesh smirked to himself and put his hands in his pockets.

The weight on his back grew heavier as the effects from the strength potion faded. No matter, they'd be on the boat soon. He hefted the pack higher with a grunt and quickened his pace.

Kala's pack was getting heavier as well as they approached the carved vine that formed the long walkway out to the boat. She resisted the urge to down another potion. Letting that become automatic was the way to the form of addiction she had described to Ra'kesh. She leaned a little more heavily on the iron-bound staff as she went carefully along the vine. There were no railings, and falling into the sea was not how she wanted her journey to begin.

The ship was not large, possessing only a single mast and a single trapdoor on the deck leading down below. Two Dunmer women were moving about the deck, doing mysterious things with ropes and wood blocks. Both wore practical leather trousers and homespun shirts.

“Ah, good morning, Sera!” called a Dunmer who stood near the gangplank, waving cheerily. He was dressed in practical brown as well, but his belt was dyed gaudily scarlet, fringed with tassels. His skin was dull gray, flayed by wind and weather into something like leather. “Sera wishes to go to Dagon Fel, perhaps? Two days' journey, very easy! We have food and clean water, and my daughter plays a lovely mandolin for the long evenings!”

“Yes, passage to Dagon Fel for both of us. How much?”

“Ah, we make a special deal just for you, Sera, only forty drakes and your Khajiit rides free. Good luck to have a Khajiit on a boat, you know.”

Kala sighed as she detached the purse that held the last of her remaining money and handed it over.

“Is it really, or do you say that about every species that comes on board?”

Behind him, the younger woman giggled. “Oh yes, he does,” she said. The man grinned ruefully.

“Silence, girl, you are ruining your father's sales pitch. But we are happy to have your custom all the same, Sera. We always have more time than money, and we are trying to build a trousseau for our Kijili so that she can marry better than her mother did.”

“I've never regretted it,” said the older woman cheerfully. “Come, lay down your packs, we will strap them in the netting so that nothing goes overboard.” Kala hurried to comply, glad to be rid of the weight. Mother and daughter chattered happily as they dealt with securing the heavy knapsacks. They were alike in height and color, purple-gray skin and black hair, but Kijili moved with more sprightly energy than her mother, and she had stuck a colorful sprig of weed behind her ear, little red blossoms against the black.

Ra'kesh followed Kala's lead in shrugging off the heavy pack. The straps dug painfully into his bony shoulders even though he had not bore the full weight longer than a few minutes. He kept out of the way of the Dunmer crew as they worked, one hand in his pocket fiddling with the coin purse he'd snatched off the oblivious Altmer earlier. It was heavy with gold and Ra'kesh was eager to be alone so he could count it.

Kala had not even noticed the theft, too intent on getting to the boat and getting her pack off. Now she sat on the deck leaning on her knapsack, staff wedged behind her as she watched the Dunmer dance about preparing to make sail. She glanced over at Ra'kesh. He still needed a few more pounds and a few more weeks of light exercise before he would become the handsome Khajiit that was lurking somewhere in there, but he was a marked improvement from the scraggly creature she had bought in Tel Aruhn.

If he can manage to stay clean for five minutes, by the time he's free he'll probably have his pick of the ladies. She felt mildly envious, and amused at herself that she was so. Generally the rule was that an Orcish man would not want a mage, and a man of magery would not want an Orc. Perhaps she would be lucky and meet some stocky and practical Legionnaire. Imperials intermarried more than every other species put together, it was said.

Before long they were gliding out of the dock and out into the open sea, the deck rolling more freely as they moved further from shore. The frantic bustle of activity gradually quieted as they achieved their primary heading, and the girl Kijili came over to stand near them, holding to a rope of indefinable purpose that passed diagonally overhead from mast to somewhere on the rail.

“We are underway, Sera! Are you hungry, either one? Or if you are tired, there are hammocks below. We also carry cargo, but there is room to stretch out.” She pointed down the deck to the trapdoor that led below, presumably down a ladder.

“I'm fine,” Kala said. “Thanks for asking.” She thought for a moment about phrasing. She had learned a lot about that over the last few days. He would never admit to being tired or hungry. “Ra'kesh, perhaps you'd better go and have a look at the hammocks. Make sure they're long enough to fit a tall Khajiit.”

“If they are not, Ra'kesh will find out tonight either way,” he chuckled. “But he will look around anyway. Not much else to do for the next two days.”

He pulled open the trap door and climbed below deck, letting the door fall shut behind him. His grip on the ladder was annoying weak but it was a short climb.

The bowed walls were lined with crates and barrels. According to his nose, a good deal of the cargo were food and drink provisions for the folks in Dagon Fel. The hammocks situated between crates did seem a bit small for him, but he had a bed roll anyway. He sat down on a hammock for the moment and fished the coin purse out of his pocket.

The purse itself was a fine black velvet held shut with silk cord. When he emptied the gold into his lap for counting a sparkling silver band fell out as well. He could feel the Magicka emanating from the ring but had no idea what kind of enchantment it held. Kala would know, but he couldn't just ask her to identify a ring he'd stolen.

He slipped it onto his pinky finger - the only one small enough to fit - and concentrated on drawing the spell from the ring. He'd used enchanted items before. Magicka flowed through his body but nothing appeared to happen. Nothing would, considering it was a ring of water breathing and he was not currently inhaling water. Ra'kesh shrugged and put the ring back in the bag, then finished counting the money. 32 gold in all. He grinned at his good fortune and pocketed the gold once more. It seemed that being a slave had some perks. Mer had a tendency to stare suspiciously at free Khajiits, or even cross to the other side of the street to avoid them. Not only did slaves walk unnoticed, but their owners were technically responsible for their actions.

Ra'kesh climbed back to the upper deck to rejoin Kala.

While Ra'kesh was below, Kala got up and went to stand at the rail and watch the passing water. She didn't see any dreugh yet, but she did see a couple of large slaughterfish, jaws gaping near the surface as they waited for the less clever or perceptive of the birds to land.

“Take care you don't lean over too far, Sera,” the older woman advised her cheerily as she trundled past, rolling gait keeping her comfortably balanced on the deck. “We'd have to back water to have Drojo fish you out, and you might get bit.”

“Thanks, Sera, I'll be careful,” Kala said, smiling at her.

“Oh, Almsivi, you don't have to be Sera-ing old Larani.” The woman clapped her on the shoulder with a surprisingly strong grip.

“Then do call me Kala. It'll be awkward otherwise.”

“If you like, dearie. Do you get seasick?”

“Not really. I used to sail with my mother when she went to get adamantium for the forge. Da had to stay home and tend the smithy,” she explained. “That's long ago now, but I still don't mind being at sea.”

Ra'kesh was on his way back out of the trapdoor. Apparently he hadn't been tired.

The next two days passed without much event. Pirates were not unknown in these waters, but they were less active so close to the coast, and the little ship was seldom completely out of sight of land. Gulls and other birds wheeled overhead or came to stand on the rail and harangue the passengers, and Kala did get to see her dreugh passing by. She watched it out of sight.

Ra'kesh would have found the water peaceful and even comforting under normal circumstances. But now, sober, it was incredibly boring to him. He was starting to get down again in the face of so many long hours with nothing to occupy himself with, until Kijili broke out the mandolin later that night. The setting sun painted the western sky in brilliant pink and orange hues, while twinkling stars peeped through the clouds to the east. Jode's ruddy face would light their way even after the sun set, and lanterns on the boat lit the deck well enough for the non-Khajiit.

The young woman's fingers danced over the strings with skill that had undoubtedly come from many long hours of practice. Ra'kesh did not recognize the songs but they were beautiful and brought back many happy memories of his days on the sea. He leaned against the bulwark, tapping his foot in time with the music.

Ra'kesh liked these people. They were joyful, honest, and hard-working. Not at all like the image of mean-spirited, humorless Dunmer ingrained in his mind.

“If only Ra'kesh had a few drinks in his belly, he'd be up dancing,” he joked to Kala.

“Too bad we drank all the flin,” Kala said mildly. She sat with her back to the bound-up knapsack again as she listened, one foot crossed over the other, hands resting relaxed on the deck to either side. “That would be something to see. Of course, it would be a solo performance. I think I would fall overboard if I tried to dance on the deck.”

“Would you dance with a slave, Kala?” Drojo asked, surprised. Apparently he had no such qualms about falling overboard; he was actually sitting on the rail as his spouse stood at the wheel far to the front of the boat (fore, Kala supposed sleepily). “That's not how most masters behave.”

“I don't really approve of slavery in general. I couldn't afford bearers for my expedition,” she explained, color rising in her face. She spent so much time alone that it often didn't occur to her how the way she treated Ra'kesh in public would look or sound to other – she almost wanted to say “normal” - people.

Ra'kesh fidgeted uncomfortably at the topic of conversation. If he thought dancing was odd, Drojo must be absolutely scandalized that she shared alcohol with him. He could see that the topic bothered Kala as well, so he steered it back.

“Mistress would not fall with Ra'kesh holding her. Even drunk as a hound, he stands steady on the sea.” 

"Then it's a good thing we are out of liquor, or I might be tempted," she said more calmly. "What do you call that song, Kijili?"

"The Five Bright Maids," said Kijili, strumming gently, and Kala led her on to talk about the music, passing the other subject. She remembered uncomfortably the last time she had actually touched Ra'kesh, and she did not feel herself to be entirely secure on that point, and anything less than complete mastery of herself was not to be thought of on this topic.

Ra'kesh listened to their conversation without interrupting. He suddenly realized what he wanted to spend his money on when they got home: a mandolin for himself. He would no doubt be very rusty, but he did play at one time. Having something to look forward to other than drugs made him unexpectedly happy. He was able to smile the rest of the evening despite Drojo's annoying comment.

The next day passed quicker than Ra'kesh expected. He found himself full of nervous excitement as they approached their destination. It was late afternoon when a rusted Dwemer tower loomed out of the fog. Shortly after, the small settlement it shadowed was visible too. He'd never seen a ruin so close to a town before.

Kala stood at the rail, watching the tower drift into view as she held the straps of her knapsack tightly. She had seen a Dwemer ruin during her apprenticeship, but now she was out on her own, really here, really on her way. She could hear her own pulse in her ears.

They docked at a tiny port clustered with flimsy wooden shacks. Once again Ra'kesh took up his heavy load. He figured he'd wait until they were out of town before drinking another strength potion, because he didn't know if Kala would be stopping here first.

“Good luck!” Larani called as they walked down the slatted gangplank, waving. Kala waved back, but didn't slow down, in a hurry to be on her way. She downed another potion as she headed off toward the Eastern side of town. After they had passed the waterfront shacks there were a few stone houses, pressed close to the mossy city wall. They passed beneath an enclosed walkway connecting two tall, narrow buildings, each with a sign that named the oddly-constructed inn The End of the World. Unlike the mud-plaster construction of Balmora, the roofs here were thatched.

There were more Nords and fewer Dunmer here in the North, though they hardly seemed friendlier than the Hlaalu, eyeing the Orc and the Khajiit suspiciously as they passed. The fog was hardly less thick on land than at sea. The air felt cool and damp, and the sun hardly seemed to penetrate to the ground. There was more moss and lichen underfoot than grass. Kala was glad she had worn full clothes under her robe.

“It's more than a day's walk East,” she said to Ra'kesh. “So we'll have to camp out tonight. Hopefully tomorrow we'll be able to sleep inside the ruin's antechamber. They're usually warm and dry.”

“Yes... and full of metal creatures that want to kill one,” Ra'kesh said dryly. He wasn't really afraid of spider centurions but knew from experience a Dwemer ruin was a disquieting place to rest. The rumbles and clanking from the bowels of the ancient city always left one wondering if the machinery below was firmly bolted in place, or if it was a guardian making its way up to slaughter you. He'd never entered one again after taking shelter during a storm.

“If you know the original control words you can stop them very easily,” Kala said. She took a scroll from her belt, one of the variety with two rollers that could unroll in either direction, and unspooled it with a practiced motion as she walked. It held a detailed map drawn in ink. “And even if they're not the same words as most cities – some of them varied over time – they usually post them near the city's entrance. It's just that they're in the Dwemer script, and most people can't read it. Otherwise the mechanical defenses attack any non-Dwemer on sight.”

Ra'kesh drained another draught of strength when the weight started bothering him. He stood up straighter as the burden lessened and looked up to watch the cliff racers wheeling in the sky above. Guards kept the racer population pretty low near bigger cities, but out here in the untamed wilderness they ran rampant.

With his thick coat of fur Ra'kesh barely noticed the cold, but the hike was taxing even with the help of the potion. He did his best to soldier on with no visible signs of discomfort.

As they rounded a bend and the city fell away out of sight behind them, a pair of cliff racers peeled off from the wheeling flock high above and began to glide along their path, casting their odd shadows down through the fog.

“It should really be very easy to deactivate everything without damaging the site,” Kala concluded.

“That crossbow would have been nice to have now,” Ra'kesh said, pointing at the racers above them. He flicked his ears back at the annoying wails they were making. “Stupid things will follow one for hours making that ear-splitting sound...”

Ra'kesh stopped to pick up a rock and experimentally tossed it in the air a few times. He felt like he could lob a rock for miles thanks to that potion.

“Is Mistress a betting woman? What will she give if Ra'kesh can hit one in the head?” he asked with a toothy grin.

“Erm… Respect?” Kala said, stopping to look upward as she put the map away. The obnoxious SQUONK of the racers drifted down to her ears. It must be truly irritating to someone with a Khajiit's sensitive hearing.

“Seriously though, I'll give you half the levitation potions I can make from the plumes. They're better than gold out in a place like this, and I've packed a half-pound of coda flowers in hopes we'd run into some racers.”

Her own pack held a miniaturized set of alchemical equipment, not the sort of thing one could use while walking, but certainly viable to set up on-site. It was a repeated fact from her research that some Dwemer cities even had areas that could only be accessed by levitation, and there was zero chance of her learning that spell. It cost over four hundred drakes and was rumored to knock you out for half a day after absorbing it.

“That's a good deal! He will do it.”

Ra'kesh shrugged off the pack for a moment and chose his mark, the one that was closest to the ground- about 25 feet above their heads. It was flying slowly and had one beady eye trained on the strangers below. The Khajiit scrunched up his entire face in concentration, arm drawn back.

Ra'kesh launched the rock with all of his might. It smacked the cliff racer in the neck, prompting a startled cry. It lost a few feet of altitude as its wings stuttered. Its companion was oblivious to what had happened and kept its course, but the one Ra'kesh hit dived at him, screeching in anger. Ra'kesh had already drawn his dagger and slashed at the racer's face while dodging to the side to avoid its deadly beak. His knife connected with the beak and did no damage, but the racer darted away slightly disoriented. It shook its head and circled around for a second pass.

Kala snorted at the near-miss, ducking away from Ra'kesh as the creature swooped down on its tormentor. As it came back around she breathed deeply, channeling power to the first ring on her left index finger, and pointed at the racer. A tiny jolt of lightning shot from the ring to the flying creature. It squawked and fell to the ground, twitching. The wings flapped about desperately for a moment, scuffing in the dirt, but it had landed on its head. After a couple of seconds it was still.

“Well,” she said, staring up at the other racer in case it chose to attack as well. “What do I win?”

“What is she saying? Ra'kesh hit it in the head like he said he would!” His tone dripped indignation, but there was a gleam in his eye.

He prodded the racer with his foot just to be sure it really was dead, then kneeled in front of the body to slice off its plumes. The bandit's old iron dagger had a rough time cutting through the leathery flesh but once again the strength potion was aiding him. He held up the plumes for Kala to take, then set to hacking off the fleshy tail.

“Tail is okay meal. May as well save provisions,” he explained.

She accepted the plumes graciously, lips pulled to one side in amusement. The creature's flesh was smooth and relatively unmarked, showing no signs of contagious disease.

"Thanks. So racer-tail soup really is a delicacy? Our housekeeper used to claim that. I never believed her."

"SQUONK," said the racer far above them, gliding on until its shadow passed out of view in the fog.

“Well, Ra'kesh doesn't know about that. He never saw these oversized pigeons until coming to Vvardenfell. He would eat them by the dozens just to shut up that squawking back when Ra'kesh lived outside.” He wiped his blade on the grass and retrieved his pack. He would carry the tail for now rather than letting the appendage leak blood inside the bag.

He made a rude gesture in the direction of the retreating racer as they resumed their walk.

Kala filed the gesture away for future reference. She had never seen that particular one, and it was always possible she might want to really offend someone at some point.

Steep hills, covered in brown grass and weeds, rose up around them as they traveled the roughly-pebbled path. Kreshweeds taller than Ra'kesh rattled their broad blades in the cold and clammy breeze, foot-long white flowers bobbing. She stopped to saw off a giant leaf with her belt knife, kneeling awkwardly under her heavy pack, then went along stripping the fibers from the underside as she walked. It made a soft rrrrip… rrrrip… rrrip noise as they went.

The fog gradually darkened around them, white to pale gray to darker gray. Somewhere far above and behind them, masked by the clouds, Magnus was beginning to set.

Ra'kesh was slowing down considerably. His back and legs both ached from the journey even though he had taken another potion some time ago. He hadn't thought about it earlier, but now that making camp was on his mind he noted a distinct lack of trees in this region. He assumed that even fire birthed from magicka could not burn indefinitely without fuel.

The bodily discomfort combined with the repetitive noise from Kala's work was setting him on edge.

“What is that for?” he finally asked. The tip of his tail flicked back and forth in short, quick twitches.

Kala glanced up in surprise at his tone, then glanced back at his tail. “It has a few uses,” she said. “The Make-Me-Pretties Ra'Virr likes to buy, for one.” Her voice fell dull and flat on the darkening fog, sound absorbed rather than reflected. She had been lost in reverie, diagramming Dwemer mechanisms in her mind, and had completely tuned out the noise. Now that she was paying attention she realized it was probably much more irritating to him than it was to her. She threw away the rest of the leaf, coiling the remaining fibers around one wrist with the other hand.

Her legs were starting to protest the long walk and the burden. Even potions could not compensate for being unaccustomed to this kind of protracted exercise. It was probably worse for him. He had been a near-helpless wreck just a week ago, she reminded herself.

“Watch for a turn-off next to some stacked rocks,” she said. “The map says we should be near an empty old egg mine. I thought we'd try and sleep there. We should be safe enough up to the first air-shaft.”

“There is nothing around here to use as firewood,” he commented on the obvious. “Although.. this one supposes that dried meat can do tonight, and cliff racer tail can be for later.”

The turn off was not far, and the old mine just after that. The doorway to the mine was just off the trail, partially hidden by tall weeds. The wood was badly rotted thanks to the damp sheogorad air. Ra'kesh pushed through the weeds and forced open the door. The rusty hinges squeaked obnoxiously and stale air blew against his face when it swung open. He crinkled his nose at the musty smell and stepped inside first, since he could see better in the dark. He found a torch on the wall near the entrance and passed it back to Kala.

The old scent of kwama was thick in the mine, but there was also fresher traces of other animals. The mine probably connected to a larger network of caves. It seemed deserted enough to use for one night.

“We can probably find some old crates,” she said, unconsciously lowering her voice. “They never take away everything when they leave these places.”

Kala looked at the length of wood wrapped in damp muslin blankly as she took it in her hand, then set it carefully on the floor next to the door as she drew one hand across her eyes, two fingers extended. The dark interior of the mine blossomed in soft, bright blues and grays as the spell took effect. It smelled of dust and damp rot even to her, and she could faintly catch the spicy tang of kwama chitin, but she was completely ignorant of any other connotations of scent.

Her foot crunched on a something as she followed the Khajiit, and she looked down to see scattered bits of eggshell, dry and ancient. The sound seemed to echo off down the main corridor, bouncing off the shoring timbers.

Ra'kesh looked back at Kala in confusion when she did not light the torch but quickly realized she must have used a spell to see. He peeled off the heavy pack and leaned it against the tunnel wall and kept walking down the narrow corridor. It felt so good to have the damn thing off him. He rubbed the area between neck and shoulder with one hand while continuing. A small room opened up to his right, evidently an old storage area, as it was full of rotting crates covered in a thick layer of dust. He lifted the lid of one to see what was inside and stopped mid-movement, ears swiveling towards a small sound carried from far away in the dark tunnel.

“There are rats deeper in,” he said, unfazed. The crate held some empty burlap sacks that were full of holes. He moved on to another, which held more sticks for torches. He snorted dust out of his nose and gathered up the wood in his arms.

The storage room seemed like an all right place to spend the night to Ra'kesh, so he dumped the sticks in the middle of the floor. The wood clattering together was startlingly loud in the otherwise still and silent atmosphere of the mine.

Far away, below the level of the Orc's hearing, something fell with a soft clatter, wood on wood. There was a soft, throaty rattle, almost a creak like an old hinge, but with the breathy sound of air being exhaled from a living creature.

Kala set her pack next to Ra'kesh's, looking around slowly. Her clothes were thick enough to prevent chafing, but having the weight off was a grateful relief. Obviously they didn't have to worry about bandits. The place had seen no sentient habitation in what looked like years, not even other campers. Perhaps more advanced research mages simply levitated their way to the ruin they wished to find, traveling straight as the cliff racer flies. Some day.

“I suppose that's expected,” she said.

Ra'kesh had vanished into a doorway ahead on the right. Very weak light from inside, basically a change in the texture of the darkness, suggested there might be an air shaft there. The corridor seemed to go on forever as it sloped downward, eventually curving away to the right as it no doubt spiraled down to the deeper mine.

Then she heard the scrape of claws on packed dirt from down the tunnel, gradually changing in position as something approached from below, barely loud enough for to hear it as she held her breath. It was a two-legged gait, but occasionally there was another tap or scratch, like a third limb touching down or against the wall. And there was another noise, a drawn out Creeeek that ended in a little high-pitched exhalation. The hairs on the back of Kala's neck rose. She had never heard a sound like that, and she had killed cave rats as part of her educational outings before.

“I think it might be something lar - ”

She broke off as a pointed, scaly muzzle thrust its way around the corner, sharp beak gaping in a high-pitched hunting call. A great bony crest flared out behind the eyes, mad wide eyes whose crimson color could barely be determined through the Night Eye spell. The creature hooked a three-fingered claw around the corner as it thrust itself forward on digitigrade legs like an Argonian's, and a scaly tail lashed at the corridor. Kala had only seen such a thing in pictures, drawings in daedric bestiaries. She jerked her hand forward, trying to bathe the thing in poison, but her heart beating in her throat betrayed her; the spell failed, a puff of venom vanishing around her fingertips.

Screaming its reeching excitement over its new prey, the clannfear charged.

Ra'kesh didn't even have time to draw his weapon. Instead he aimed a kick at the deadra's shoulder and sent it crashing into the opposite wall of the storage room. It thrashed on the ground in shock for a moment, but this gave Ra'kesh time to ready his dagger. He snarled savagely at the clannfear, teeth bared, watching intently for its next move. The clannfear scrabbled to its feet after just a few seconds, but now the creature's rage was directed at him. It leapt into the air towards the Khajiit, claws flashing.

Ra'kesh thrust the dagger up into its scaly belly. It screamed in agony as its claws clamped around Ra'kesh's shoulders, bringing them both tumbling to the ground. He was forced to let go of his dagger and use his hands to grab its snout, else the clannfear would bite him. It thrashed in his arms, trying to free its head from his grip and screeching in pain.

“Poison!” Ra'kesh barked.

She didn't want to do it, but perhaps she could heal him before the poison killed him. Blood rushed in Kala's ears as she made the mnemonic gesture again, sharply, and saw it fail again with a powdery wheeze of expiring magicka. She was still tired from the long hike, and that made everything worse. Poison was a powerful spell, power went out of her with every attempt at casting, and now it was gone with nothing to show for it.

No, no! Not now!

She fumbled at her potion belt with trembling fingers, found one of her precious few Guild magicka restoratives by feel, thumbed out the cork and downed it. Power rushed through her system like strong liquor, and something else with it, something hot and furious. Red mist began to rise in front of her eyes as she cast the spell again, coursing through her muscles until all fatigue, all weakness seemed purged away.

A growl rose in Kala's throat as she began the gesture one more time. This time a jet of yellow-green venom darted from her hand to the clannfear, exploding with a wavering hiss that seemed to fill the hallway with choking fog for yards. The clannfear's spine broke with a loud series of SNAPs as it seized in irresistible tetanus.

Ra'kesh wasn't expecting the sheer agony that enveloped his entire body when the spell hit. Poison burned like molten lava in his veins. He no longer needed to hold onto the clannfear's head, but couldn't have even if he wanted to. His hands dropped to the ground on either side of his head, spasming open and close. The dead weight of the clannfear had fallen across his chest. He was barely cognizant that he had to get out from under it so Kala could heal him, but his body twitched uselessly and refused to cooperate. The clannfear was not so heavy that it was crushing his lungs, yet he could suck in no air despite his mouth being frozen open in a silent screaming expression.

His eyes rolled back in his head, foam appearing at the corner of his mouth. Ra'kesh was now aware of absolutely nothing other than pain; everything else faded to black. He couldn't even curse himself for being stupid enough to ask for this.

Kala hurled herself forward, teeth bared around her tusks, and seized the dying clannfear around the body. Its blood soaked the front of her robe, hot and stinking of iron and magicka as she hauled it away from the twitching body of the Khajiit. It must have massed as much as he did, but it seemed to weigh nothing, a feather, a leaf. She slung away from herself and saw it slide down the corridor even as it kicked and rattled its last.

Power welled behind her eyes, red mist, blue light, coating everything in intermittent flashes of color. She growled again as she wrapped both arms around the Khajiit's chest and let the power go. White light flashed up around them. She had never cast the spell at that level, never had it work that well, and in some distant, buried place where thought was still possible she was aware that something new was happening. The part that was currently in control huffed through her flared nostrils, and held on.

The pain faded, replaced by a tingling sensation that washed over Ra'kesh's body. As the burning subsided, color returned to his dark world. He suddenly gasped and started choking on his own spit. After several harsh coughs that tore his throat he could finally breath. He could do nothing but lay limp in Kala's arms sucking in air. As feeling returned to him he was aware of warmth all around him. A wet, sticky warmth on his front, and the warmth of her arms as they encircled him. He weakly clutched at her arm with one hand, as if to tell her he was okay now. The intense pain had dazed him and all he could do now was sit there and try to make sense of what he'd gone through.

“Hargh,” said Kala, and huffed again. The red and blue were fading, leaving everything darker and darker, and she was aware of Ra'kesh grasping at her arm. He had pushed her away quickly the first time she had healed him. He probably would rather not be touched by an Orc, and indeed, to touch a slave first was always to impose her position with regard to his. It would never be right except when it was absolutely necessary. And that was a clear, rational thought, and as clear, rational thought drained back in like a trickle of water from a broken pump her strength waned rapidly. Her arms and legs felt weak and heavy as she laid him down, cupping the back of his mane to keep his head from striking the floor.

She had taken a potion, she was sure of it; yet the power was gone again. She leaned hard against the wall, panting. That was all to the good. If she had not somehow overcast her healing spell so that it exhausted her magicka he might have died from the venom with which she had poisoned him.

“I'm sorry,” she said faintly. “I'm so sorry, Ra'kesh.”

Ra'kesh let his face fall to the side. He didn't have the energy to hold his head up. Even his ears hung limp against the cold ground. His breathing and heart rate were both beginning to slow as his body recovered from its ordeal, but he still felt so drained. His lip quirked up in the absolute faintest of smiles, though he still didn't look in Kala's direction.

“It turns out...” he rasped, “it was not a rat.. after all.” He winced as another painful cough racked his body.

After many long moments he felt a small amount of strength return to his limbs. He propped himself up on his forearms and weakly turned to look at Kala against the wall. She was a sorry sight.. pale, covered in sweat, and with a pained look on her face like she'd thrown an old lady over a cliff and then felt guilty about it.

“Mistress saved Ra'kesh.. Thank you,” he panted. Then he looked down at the large black stain on the front of his shirt. He'd ruined another.

“I saved you from myself, yes,” she said dryly. “I don't think that deserves thanks. Mauloch's ballsack, you threw yourself on a clannfear.” She straightened with an effort, shaking her head to try and clear it. Her robe stank of blood. Egkh. I wonder where the closest water is. They probably had a well dug in here somewhere, but there's no knowing how far down.

No Night Eye potions. No magicka. Torch is way over by the door somewhere. Ra'kesh doesn't sound good. Going to have to spend another potion. There was a poit as she uncorked and downed another vial.

Ra'kesh pulled himself into a fully sitting position. He raised a brow at her colorful language, never having heard her speak that way before. He wanted to drag himself over to the wall to lean against it, but it was so far away from his current perspective.

“Mistress is too hard on herself. Both did what must be done in the moment. But mighty Alkosh.. that hurt.” He put a palm on his forehead, which would have been coated in perspiration of Khajiits could sweat.

He yanked the water skin loose from his belt and gulped the water greedily, little droplets escaping to wet the fur of his neck which was already partially soaked in blood. He noticed that his knife was on the other end of the room, evidently knocked out of the clannfear's belly when it got thrown. The prudent thing to do would be to pick it up immediately in case there was another attack, but he loathed to move. Instead, he held out the water to Kala. There were a few sips left.

“I'm amazed you survived to be healed.” She finished recasting Night Eye in time to see him holding out the water skin. Kala took it gratefully and gulped down the contents, lips tightly fastened around the opening to avoid losing a drop.

“Thanks. I was just thinking we'll have to see if we can find the old well. Most of these mines have one. At least we know there aren't other predators in here. Clannfear will kill anything that isn't another daedra, and other daedra would've been attracted by the noise – hold still, I'm going to heal you again.” She reached out. Her hand shook. The spell did not fail, but it cast at a much lower level of power this time.

And thank any relevant deity for the complete scorn for stealth of daedra in general and the more powerful ones in particular. Even dremora, most subtle and cunning of the greater daedra, would come clanking up in their impenetrable armor without the slightest attempt at surprise.

Because they don't have to. We were almost both killed by a lesser daedra. ONE lesser daedra.

Ra'kesh wanted to groan at the mention of tromping around looking for a well. He'd just as soon throw off the bloody shirt and go to bed.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the second healing spell restored even more of his energy. The clannfear had dug its claws into his neck, but any trace of a wound was gone now. He dragged his heavy body to his feet, pushing off his thighs to stand straight up. He collected his dagger from the ground and just used a clean corner of his shirt to wipe it off before putting it back in his belt.

“We should make barricade with these crates before sleep. Flimsy wood will not stop a daedra, but at least the sound will give warning,” he suggested.

“Good idea. Probably better first step than…” Kala climbed to her feet, leaning on the packed-dirt wall with one hand for support. “Trying to...” She took one step. Her left knee gave out immediately, thumping her left side into the wall. She slid downward. Her entire body felt made of shalk resin, rubbery and much too flimsy to hold up on its own. Even through Night Eye the image of her surroundings wavered and spun.

Ra'kesh sprang to Kala's side as fast as he was able and grabbed her around the waist. Even though she was pretty much on the ground already, he'd been acting on instinct. He helped her sit down against the wall.

“Just wait for a moment,” he said quickly and retreated to the main corridor. He grabbed Kala's pack and hauled it into the room to set it down beside her. He dug around until he found her water skin and a paper-wrapped package of pemmican. He sat on his knees at to look at her face to face and put the water into her hands.

“Is Mistress okay?” He searched her pale face with concern clearly written in his eyes. He suddenly realized all of that spell casting must have taken a lot out of the mage.

A sudden arm around her waist startled her. Kala blinked hard, trying to clear her vision as he lowered her to the floor. The wall at her back was so much colder and everything seemed to keep… spinning…

He was speaking. She blinked her eyes open again, raising her head – it had fallen sideways without her conscious knowledge – and her hands closed around the water skin as she gradually managed to cudgel her brain into extracting meaning from sound.

“I'm just tired,” she said slowly. “I don't… I don't berserk. I never did before. I'm not used to it. Maybe one of the… Green dot on the label. Outside right pocket.”

Ra'kesh clumsily fumbled around in the pocket for the correct potion. It was quite alarming to see her like this, and he wasn't entirely sure what she meant by “berserk”. When his fingers found the potion, he uncorked it and held it out for her.

She reached out for it very slowly, very carefully, and drank it all in one swallow. She inhaled, broad nostrils flaring, as her head gradually cleared – her pupils flared small and large again in the dark - then reached over to tuck the empty vial away as she sat up. She still felt like sleeping for a year, but at least she was no longer dizzy.

“Thanks. That should get me through setting up the barricade, anyhow.” Her voice was clear and definite, no longer muzzy. “Maybe we'll leave the well for tomorrow.” She had a drink, since he had handed her the water, then offered it back to him. “Barricade, eat, sleep.”

Kala tucked the pemmican back into the knapsack's top as she climbed carefully to her feet again. This time she moved with more certainty. Her muscles felt like bent wire, stiff and unwieldy, but they cooperated. She turned to stare at the corpse of the clannfear. It was an unreal distance away. Because I threw it. With my arms. Good gods.

Ra'kesh eyed Kala skeptically as she got up, not sure she should be moving right now. He could prepare those things himself. Reluctantly, he turned away to fetch his own bag. He brought a flint and steel from the house along since he wasn't accustomed to relying on magic for all his fire-starting needs, and it was about time to get one going in there.

On his way back, he stopped to check what Kala was staring at down the tunnel. He had no recollection of how the clannfear got off of him. He balked when he saw it laying at the bottom of the incline.

“How did that happen?” he asked, stunned.

“Erm… I threw it.” She went into the storage room to drag a broken crate back out into the hallway, carefully diverting around the pile of torches. “I may be a mage but I'm still an Orsimer with all that that entails. Apparently.” She felt as though she were moving through mud, and she might not be able to move her arms in the morning without healing, but she had done it. She shook her head at the thing as she hauled the crate over to half-block the hallway. 

“Impressive.” Ra'kesh finished bringing his bag into the room and took his turn dragging the next crate. After two more were stacked on top of these, the narrow hall was sufficiently blocked. He then dug the flint and steel from his pack and set to starting a fire. Even with fur, the cold of the mine was starting to get to him.

“How do you feel now?” She was tired enough to forget that an honest answer to that question was probably impossible for him.

“Eh... Ra'kesh has had better days.. but he will be all right,” he said tiredly, unrolling his bed and sitting down cross-legged on it, in front of the smoldering wood. He poked at the pile with one of the sticks until the fire started to take. When he was satisfied that it was burning well, he lifted the blood-soaked shirt over his head and threw the thing into the hallway so he wouldn't have the stench of blood right under his nose all night. It was still in his fur, but he'd live with that for now.

Kala laid out her own bedroll, wadding up her bloody robe to toss after the shirt. She still had on her tunic and leggings under it, and she dug in her pack for the spare robe, yawning. She laid the potion belt aside and just tied the garment loosely with the strip of cloth that it came with.

“Good. Eat some food. There should be more in the bag you were carrying.” She could start the fire with her tiny Destruction spell, but he had done it before it occurred to her, and the flint and steel seemed to work fine. She pulled out the pemmican he'd handed her and ate some of it as she sat on the bedroll, chattering on half-awake in between swallows. It tasted much better than she remembered. “Earlier in the week I thought you might try to kill me in my sleep, you know that? And here you've nearly died attacking things that were attacking me twice now. Truly you are an inexplicable man.”

Ra'kesh tore into his own meat like a starved animal. He swallowed too much at once and almost choked twice. When he was done he picked up the shreds that had fallen on his pants and ate those too.

He looked away guiltily at Kala's comment.

“Ra'kesh is no murderer,” he huffed, but didn't meet her gaze. He only considered it “murder” if the person in question didn't deserve to die, and in his opinion, all of them had. But perhaps Kala had a... broader definition of the word. Then his expression softened and he favored her with a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry. I guess I just haven't been around enough Khajiit.” She was proud of her diplomacy. She knew Dra'viji, and had known Zharra, and she'd spent a fair amount of time around Ajira; but all of those were women, one was a housekeeper, and one was a mage. Really the problem was that she hadn't been around enough male ex-pirates with skooma problems, and she had never owned a slave.

“Ra'kesh would not have trusted himself either, so he understands.” He nervously scratched his cheek with one finger and shifted his eyes to the flickering fire. “To be honest... Ra'kesh stole jewelry from Mistress's room. But he returned it all later. A master thief like Ra'kesh could clean out unsuspecting Orc right under her nose, but he is also a gentleman who only robs bad ones.” His chest puffed out a bit when speaking of his thieving skills.

Her stomach was full, and the fire was warm. Kala yawned again as she listened.

“Good man, that you put it back,” she said as she eased over onto her side, facing the fire. A very thin hide thong slid out of her collar and lay across her throat, dragged by the weight of something still hidden by her clothes. Her head rested on the stuffed sack that was sewed into one end of the bedroll to form a rough pillow. Her skin felt sticky to the touch as sweat dried on her skin, and the ground was hard, but she found everything fading gently anyway. She shut her eyes.

“That's an act of… Will that I… Respect...” Her voice trailed off into soft muttering and then silence. A moment later she sighed. She was quite still, one arm draped over her waist and the other lying relaxed in front of her. She would not move for hours, held by the perfect inertia of total exhaustion.

Ra'kesh watched the woman fall asleep, amused. He was dead tired himself, but he took a moment to study her serene face. He'd just experienced the worst agony of his entire life, his body ached from the exertions of the day, and the stink of fear and anxiety mixed with stale cave air was stuck in his nose.. but he was okay.

He moved to uncross his legs and get into a comfortable sleeping position when he froze, noticing the sliver of hide across Kala's neck. His eyes flicked back and forth between the sleeping Orc's face and the thong that held the key to his bracers. She was out cold. He could cut the key free from her neck in one easy flick of his dagger and be gone by the time she woke up. He crawled forward on his knees until he sat in front of his defenseless master, claws brushing against the dagger on his hip.

He licked his lips expectantly, eyes trained on his freedom. His hand did not close around the hilt of his weapon.

What was he going to do, if he left? Go back to being a dirty waif who spent his days rolling around in abandoned houses in a drug-induced stupor? Keep eating skooma until he died of malnutrition? He might tell himself, “It will be different this time.” He might go live off the land again and avoid all temptations that came with the cities, like he had before.

But Ra'kesh knew that's not what would happen if he were free.

He looked down at the hard bracers on his wrists. Their gleaming enchanted surface flashed in the firelight when he moved. As much as he loathed these bracers for what they represented- the oppression of not just himself, but his entire race- he had to consider that they were probably saving his life. Kala was saving his life.

Ra'kesh withdrew back to his own bedroll and curled up towards the fire, letting the heat from the flame soak into his tired muscles. He stared in the dancing flames for a moment, but was too exhausted to spend any more time reflecting on his situation. His eyelids drooped and he was out a moment later.


	7. Chapter 7

When he opened his eyes, the fire had died long ago and left behind ashes and charred sticks.  The room was still dark, but slightly less so thanks to the tiny sliver of light from the air shaft above.  Kala was still asleep.  He lay still for a long while, enjoying the peaceful feeling that came from not having anything that needed doing immediately.

 

Eventually he did get up and retrieve the cliff racer tail that had been left near the entrance to the mine.  He got the fire going again, placing fresh torches from the supply room onto the pile.  He watched Kala's sleeping face for signs that he'd disturbed her as he worked, and tried to keep quiet.  He then chopped the tail into smaller pieces and scooted them into the outskirts of the fire with a stick.  The aroma of roasting flesh soon filled the room.

 

Kala was awakened by the delicious smell of cooking meat.  She squinted her eyes open and saw a pile of sticks burning, smoke easing up and away, black and red char glowing down at the level of the packed-dirt floor.  For a moment she was confused, wondering where she was, then everything rushed back as she rolled onto her back.

 

“Hnurgh,” she said.  She hurt surprisingly little, considering.  Apparently she had survived yesterday without tearing anything important.  She sat up carefully, looking around for Ra'kesh.

 

“Well, we survived the night,” she said.  “What are you cooking?”

 

“Cliff racer,” he responded simply, pulling the bony cylinders of meat out of the fire with his stick, and onto the discarded paper from last night's meal so it could cool off away from the heat.  They were slightly charred on the side which had faced the fire, but overall were a pleasing pinkish-brown that made his mouth water.  The meat had specks of dirt and ash stuck to it from sitting on the ground, but it wasn't something that bothered Ra'kesh.

 

He shook the empty water skin laying beside him.

 

“We can look for well after breakfast.  Ra'kesh was not going down there alone,” he chuckled.

 

“I don't blame you.” She reached up to push back the wisps of hair around her face.  Her braid was still intact, sort of; there was so much black hair sticking out in every direction back there that she was amazed the tie was still in.  “And I want a wash, too.  Ugh.” She did not want to think about what it had smelled like in here to the Khajiit before he'd started cooking.

 

She checked her potion belt, then the pockets of her knapsack.  She was down one fatigue and two of her ten precious restore magickas.  Supposing that the clannfear hadn't evaporated yet, subsumed back to its own plane, she might be able to cut out its heart and use that with her bittergreen to make another; but she had not thought of that last night, and she had read that they tended to dissolve away in an hour or so once killed.  She looked at the kresh fiber still wound around her wrist bemusedly, then unwound it and stuffed it into the ingredients bag inside the knapsack.  Then she sat cross legged on her bedroll and yawned again, waiting for the cliff racer to cool.  She wasn't about to be fussy about specks of dirt at this moment.

 

Ra'kesh picked up some of the meat with his claws and dropped it onto his pants, then pulled the paper with the remaining portions across the ground towards Kala.  He ate out of his lap, his sharp Khajiiti teeth easily separating the flesh from the racer's bony spine.  He never expected cliff racer to taste this good.

 

The clannfear's blood had dried in the fur of his neck; Ra'kesh picked at the matted strands with one hand after he'd eaten and tossed the bones into the fire.  He gave little indication that he cared about his bedraggled appearance aside from this.

 

He stared at Kala's neck while she ate, tail flicking thoughtfully behind him.  He wished he were high right now.  He wished had had taken his chance when it presented itself.  He tried to push those thoughts from his mind.

 

“Thank you.” Kala had to gnaw hers, occasionally stopping to unhook a string of meat from around a tusk.  She tried not to think about how uncouth it all was, sitting in a cave marinating in dirt and eating meat off the bone with her fingers.  It tasted delicious.

 

Once she saw him staring at her, tail flicking about as if about to pounce, and glanced downward to see that the thong that held the key to the bracers was visible.  She turned to set a cleaned bone aside, and when she straightened she shrugged that shoulder slightly, nudging it back behind the fabric.  It was a depressing reminder.  But then, the fact that he was making the best of his situation didn't make him less a slave, or her any more moral for buying him.  It was important to keep that in mind.  All of this was very temporary, and as soon as she had what she needed he would be free.

 

_ You know he'll just go straight back to the skooma when you let him go.   _ It was not the first time she'd had the argument with herself, and probably would not be the last.

 

_ That is not my problem.  I'm not Almsivi.  A man has to be able to choose. _

 

She nudged the bones into the coals.  The empty paper she used for wiping her fingers, then pushed it into the fire.  She got up to roll up the bedroll, shake the dirt off the bottom of it as best she could, and shove it back into its straps on the bottom of the knapsack.  She remembered something vaguely about dirty clothes, and yes indeed, she could see wadded fabric out in the hallway.

 

“Shall we go after that well?” she asked, straightening up.

 

There was no dead clannfear on the other side of the barricade.  It had left a smudged black outline as it subsumed back into the Void to make its way back to its native plane.

 

He realized that Kala had noticed his staring when she adjusted her clothes.  He casually looked away to watch the fire instead until she was finished.

 

He went first down the narrow tunnel, dagger drawn in his right hand, dirty shirt balled up in his other.  His black-tipped ears pointed forward, listening intently for any signs of life.  All scents were stale and he could make out no noises as they descended deeper in the mine.

 

A soft  _ plip...  plip...  plip...   _ drew his attention.  The tiny sounds echoed faintly down a tunnel branching off to their left.

 

“This way,” he spoke quietly, guiding them deeper into the mine.   Kala cast her Night Eye spell as they set out away from the fire, following the Khajiit down the sloping tunnel with her stained robe under one arm.  

 

He could smell the water now.  The shaft opened up into a large, flooded cave that was obviously not part of the mine.  Wooden beams fortified the entrance, but the cavern beyond showed no sign of humanoid disturbance.  A steep pile of rocks led to the shallow water, which would only come up to Ra'kesh's thighs at the deepest point.  There was a tunnel with a low ceiling, nearly at the level of the water, on the opposite side of the little underground lake.  Water dripped from stalactites on the high ceiling, the only thing which disturbed the lake's otherwise glassy surface.

 

When they stepped out into the flooded cave Kala stopped, eyes wide.  Even in the subdued colors that the spell gave to her vision, it was an awe-inspiring sight.

 

“Perfect,” the Khajiit said, sheathing the dagger in his belt and throwing the shirt over his shoulder so he could turn around and scale the rocks.  A few stones were jogged loose by his paws and clattered into the water as he climbed down.   

 

“I never saw the like,” Kala said.  She clambered awkwardly up after the Khajiit, reasonably strong but lacking his agility.  Soreness made nothing easier.  

 

Ra'kesh eyed the water for slaughterfish before letting himself drop down with a gentle sploosh that echoed against the cavern walls.   His tail shot straight up in shock at the coldness of the water.

 

“This was a bit dumb!” he exclaimed, but didn't climb out.  Instead he threw his shirt into the water and started rubbing at the blood stains with his thumbs.

 

Kala grinned.

 

“That's what you get for being the brave one.” She held her breath as she slid into the water herself, immediately ducking her head before the cold had time to register.  Then she gasped as her head broke the surface.

 

“Gah!” Her robe and linens floated out enough to guard her modesty as long as she stayed in a sort of awkward crouch to keep everything below the neck underwater.  It took a second to remember exactly why she'd thought this was a good idea.  Then she unspooled the dirty robe and began scrubbing vigorously at it with her fingers.  After a moment she paused to nip the thong out of her hair, letting it float freely on the surface behind her.

 

He snickered at her reaction when she hit the water.

 

“This stain is never coming out after drying overnight.  Ra'kesh is sorry he ruined another shirt,” he said, tossing the wet thing up onto the rocks.  He stooped down to splash water onto his face and neck.  He shivered; The cold was startling the first few times it touched him.

 

With wet fur plastered to his body, it was once again evident just how poor Ra'kesh's health had been.  But he had filled out slightly thanks to eating well that past week.  The texture of his fur was shinier, softer.  He cleaned the blood from his fur and, now that his body had acclimated to the temperature, turned over to float on his back.  A halo of sandy-colored mane drifted around his head.

 

The echoes of the water slapping against rock was quite relaxing.

 

“When I was small, my Mother used to say, 'The world is full of shirts, but it has only one you.'” Kala wrung out her robe over the rocks as she spoke, then laid it out next to the shirt.  “We can get a shirt a week in Balmora if we have to.  It costs about one Make-Me-Pretty potion at Ra'Virr's.” Common robes were slightly more than that, but not enough to make replacing them a real hardship.  And anyway, it was a great savings in shoes for him, if one chose to look at it thus.  That reminded her, and she tugged her boots off to empty the water out of them and set them on the side, socks wrung out and draped over the tops.  The leather would never look the same, but it was still serviceable and intact.

 

She glanced over at Ra'kesh, floating on his back in the water, and smiled slightly.  Khajiit were not house cats, any more than humans were monkeys; but as with their tiny cousins, there was something oddly soothing about being around them when they were happy, eyes half-shut and ears relaxed and upright.

 

_ Oh, do shut up.  If he knew he could get whatever he wanted by purring for five minutes he'd have that key off you in two shakes.   _ Kala laughed at herself and waded over to the side to climb out, keeping her back to him so that the clinginess of her wet clothes might not prove embarrassing.  Some parts of the body got used to cold water faster than others.  She sat on the rocks for a moment to re-braid her hair, sorting it out with her fingers as best she could.  She had left the comb in her knapsack.

 

“Orc mother's wisdom is conveniently applicable,” he said agreeably.  “But Ra'kesh has coin, he can buy clothes for himself.” His tone was not accusing at all, but he was asserting some level of control over his own life.  After the altercation in Ra'Virr's shop, that was the last place he wanted to go for his shopping needs.

 

“By all means,” Kala agreed cheerfully.  The idea that he had plans to spend his money in any way other than hiding it until he found a skooma dealer was nice to hear, anyway.  

 

He watched her on the rocks from the corner of his eye.  She appeared to have a good figure; it was too bad she always hid under all those layers and flowing robes.  This was the first time he'd even been close to seeing it.  He held his tongue, knowing that a remark about a woman's manner of dress was not a very bright idea, no matter how friendly offered.

 

“Mistress is very reserved compared to Orcs Ra'kesh has known,” he observed.  “Is there a reason?”

 

Kala doffed her second outer robe long enough to wring that out, too, then quickly put it back on.  She was not quite as dumpy as it might appear from her normal layered garb, but certainly she was a sturdy, buxom woman, like many other Orcs.  She had always envied her mother's muscle definition.  The linen tunic clung to a definite roundness in her upper arms.

 

“Mm.  Orcs Ra'kesh has known probably were not trying to make their way in the Mages Guild.  One is already facing the assumption that they're stupider and more violent than other people, and it takes some work to get people over that.  The first time I had an argument with another student she was afraid I was going to hit her – she was a Bosmer, very small and fragile, and she was nervous because she was far from home.  After that I learned not to raise my voice.  I can still be loud enough around my family, but it's been a while since I've been back to Suran.”

 

“Hmm.  Yes, Khajiit must deal with such stereotypes as well, but a different sort.  Ra'kesh never considered trying to prove them wrong..  Often he uses it to annoy racists, like Mistress's snotty 'friend' from the Balmora guild.”

 

“Oh yes, Ranys.  She's a terrible pill.  Not even the other Dunmer like her.” She had been thinking about that, and about how to route around the head of the Balmora Guild with her findings, if any.  Perhaps she would go to Edwinna Elbert in Ald'ruhn.  There was no point in worrying about it until she had facts in hand.

 

Ra'kesh stood up from floating and refilled his water skin.

 

“Ra'kesh can bring clean clothes and leave them at the entrance, if Mistress would like to spend time in water alone,” he said awkwardly.  She was clearly trying to hide herself from him, and he didn't want to impose.  It couldn't be comfortable sitting in a wet robe, anyway.

 

“Oh no, I'm really finished,” she said.   “I'm thinking I'll go back to the fire and wave this robe over it, actually.  Stay as long as you like.” She hauled her boots on over her bare feet and headed up with all speed, before things could get any more awkward.

 

Ra'kesh disliked the idea of either of them being alone in a place like this, but it did seem safe enough today.  Masterless daedra were quite rare to his understanding.

 

Since she was gone, he threw his pants and belt onto the rocks so they could get a head start on drying, then puttered around in the water for a while.  He found some pretty stones and lined them up on the shore, remembering a game called “jewel traders” he played with his siblings a long time ago.  When his pants were mostly dry he scrabbled up the rocks and dressed himself in the damp clothes.  He headed up the tunnel, smoothing out his fur and shaking water out of his ears as he went.

 

Outside the storage room, Ra'kesh scratched his claws against a timber to announce his presence before peeking around the corner.

 

“Come on in.” 

 

“What a luxurious morning these two have spent, feasting and bathing like royalty.  Shall we set off soon?”

 

Kala had spent the interim time doing an awkward little dance between having clothes on and drying the ones that were off over the fire, finally ending up dressed, socked and booted with her hair properly combed and rebraided.  Everything was still a little damp, but it was a relief to have the smell of damp fabric rather than body odor and the stink of daedric blood.  By the time Ra'kesh came back she had sorted the empty vials into their own bag and refilled her potion belt's missing slots.  She settled the belt more firmly around her outer robe as he came in.

 

She grinned at him.  “Yes, I can't imagine a life of such luxury, so we'd better get going.  If we walk fast we should get there before nightfall.” She felt a new stir of excitement at the thought.  This was everything she had worked and prepared for so long.  Even if she had done wrong in buying a slave, it was hard to gainsay that choice, considering that she would be dead if she had not – and it was possible that so would he.  In the warmer light of day she was prepared to be more optimistic about it.  She shouldered her knapsack and downed her first strength fortifier with a lightening heart.

 

Ra'kesh sighed inwardly when it was time to don the heavy pack again, but another potion lightened the load.  He was perfectly happy to leave the dusty old mine behind them and get out into the fresh air.  Their clothes could finish drying faster walking in the sunlight at least.

 

Kala hopped along with a spring in her step.  Her mood was infectious and Ra'kesh found himself smiling too as they chattered about trivial things.  The first several hours were a fast-paced, yet pleasant walk.  As the day wore on he felt the familiar ache return.  Although they took many short breaks, he was more than ready for it when a purple spire revealed itself on the horizon.

 

Kala stopped dead as she caught sight of the spire rising up through the fog.  The sun was not yet setting, but looked as though it was nerving itself to set, edging down the West behind them.  It was less cloudy, and the sky was vividly red and orange.

 

“There it is,” she breathed, and scrambled to pull out her map.  “Yes.  It's the Lance of Ghezek.  No one's actually been inside the place we're going for hundreds of years, so it's probably well off the beaten path, but once we're at the Lance it shouldn't take me long to find it.  Come on!”

 

She set off with renewed speed, tugging a packet of pemmican out of her knapsack to eat as she walked.  “Eat before we get there, if you can.  We may have some clearing to do before we can rest.”

 

Ra'kesh groaned and trudged after her, but he wouldn't ruin her excitement by complaining any more than that.  He'd been hoping the pickaxe in his bag was just something magish types liked to have around in case, like carrying a repair hammer, not something that was most definitely going to be used.  Then again, her books were dead weight in his opinion as well.

 

He did as instructed and ate, as she did.  The Guar-trail thinned to nothing until they were just crossing the pebbly ground.  There was no indication of life out here except for cliff racers who infested every corner of Vvardenfell no matter how inhospitable.  The impressively tall tower loomed closer.

 

As they drew nearer to the Lance they began to see bits of ruined structures jutting from the earth: rusted brass cogs as big across as Kala was tall, spikes and wheels of unknown function, cracked glass panels, here and there the brilliant red or green of a carved stone arrow affixed to a broken dial.  The vegetation thinned.  Kala had heard it said that Dwemer ruins poisoned the earth by design, so that their makers would not have to weed around the entrances.  The Lance itself became wider and nearer until it was clear that it was as big around at the base as any of Balmora's towers, but much taller.  There was no entrance in sight, the lower portion of the thing seemingly featureless except for the iridescent glazed windows.  One could not see inside, and they started at fifteen feet above the ground.

 

Kala walked up to hold her map up against the rusted metal wall of the tower, looking to right and left.  “We traveled East, and West is behind me now.  The aboveground door to Drakan-Ka should only be a few paces to the North.” She turned to look in that direction.  A very narrow notch between two steep hills lay a few yards off, already darkly shadowed in the waning day.  Kala rolled up the map and turned to head toward it.

 

In the darkness beyond, too softly for the Orc's ears to pick up, a bowstring creaked.

 

“Shield spell!” Ra'kesh growled urgently, grabbing Kala by the shoulders and pressing her against the tower with his back turned to the sound.  He scrunched up his shoulders to raise the pack and held his head low, hoping that if an arrow were loosed it wouldn't pass through the big knapsack into his vital organs.  His larger body protected Kala for now, but they needed to move.  He didn't have time to explain, but pressed on her shoulders to urge her to the other side of the tower.

 

Kala drew her right hand across her chest.  The air shimmered around her for a second as the spell formed its bubble.  She went where urged, hissing over her shoulder, "What? Why?"

 

No arrow emerged.  Ra'kesh heard the soft sound of the bowstring being eased, and then a voice came from the darkness:

 

"Pass on, travelers.  This is no place to stop."

 

"We're here to find Drakan-Ka," Kala called back.

 

"Well, you can't, it's ours.  Go away or I'll shoot you both." The twangy mid-range tenor might belong to a Bosmer.

 

“Of course, Sera, we'll be on our way,” Ra'kesh politely spoke through gritted teeth, pushing on Kala to get her out of there.  He waited until they had scooted far enough around the circular tower that the archer would not be able to shoot from his vantage point on the other side.  He pressed against the metal wall and looked in the direction they had come, just in case someone followed.

 

“We must leave,” he hissed, the fur of his neck standing on end.

 

Kala edged away from him, jaw hardening.  She  _ hated  _ being pushed, even if unexpected touch still and always confused her.

 

“Absolutely not,” she whispered.  “I would rather  _ be  _ shot than go back right now.  You can wait here, if you prefer.”

 

She shrugged out of her pack as quietly as possible and set it on the ground.  Then she thumbed another vial loose from her belt.  The dot on the label was white.

 

“That is  _ not _ what Ra'kesh said,” he hissed irritably.  “But we must retreat and plan.  Cannot walk up to a door guarded by an archer! What is this potion?”

 

"Something I would rather not use until I have to, so I'm amenable to hearing your plan," she whispered back.  She reluctantly picked the knapsack up, looking around for any sort of cover.  They were surrounded by chunks of Dwemer ruin, most too small to really hide one person, let alone two; but about twenty yards away a pair of doors stuck up out of the dirt at an odd angle, perhaps part of some shed or balcony that had fallen from a larger structure.  She pointed at it, looking at Ra'kesh, and raised an eyebrow.

 

He nodded his approval.  They made their way over, with Ra'kesh's head whipping around to check over his shoulder every few steps.  His tail thrashed in agitation.  At the doors, he shed his pack and sat it upright against the rusted metal at a 90° angle to give them another shield on that side.  He squatted down on the dirt, still glancing around suspiciously.

 

“Ra'kesh has no plan,” he admitted.  “But Mistress has to think before acting.  Does she have invisibility or chameleon? We must see how many there are before a plan can be made.”

 

“I have two invisibility.  It takes diamonds to make those, so I prefer not to use them if we can avoid it.  Here, this detects anything animate within a hundred yards.” She offered him a vial with a purple dot on it as she downed another herself.  Then she winced.  She could sense the presence of life, all right.  There were ten man-sized presences within her range, one off in the crack from which the voice had emerged, nine more below the ground near that.  Smaller things moved about nearer to them.  She was surprised to note that one was quite close, just a few yards below the canted balcony doorway.

 

Ra'kesh gulped the offered potion and cursed in Ta'agra when his senses came alive with the auras around him.  

 

Kala tugged at one of the doors, producing a creak of complaining metal.  


	8. Chapter 8

Kala visibly flinched at the noise.   Ra’kesh glared at her.  However, since there was only one being down the steps, and many more of them on the other end of the ruins, he favored their chances here.

 

There was a large space behind it rather than a solid wall of dirt, to Kala’s surprise.  In fact, there were stairs.  They were canted at a peculiar angle near the surface, like the doors themselves, but as they went below they seemed to twist into a more normal orientation.  She squinted.  Someone had put up a handbill on the wall a few yards in, pinned to the rusting metal with a dagger.  The interior was actually lit by the dim yellow glow of a tube fastened horizontally to the wall.  Its light was hazy and flickering.

 

“Can you read that from here?”

 

“Uh....  Khajiit can see it all right, but Ra'kesh cannot read..” he said sheepishly.  “Let's go inside, quietly.”

 

Kala stared at him, as dumbfounded as if he had said “Actually I've been an elderly Breton woman this entire time.” It had never occurred to her as even a slight possibility that he might be illiterate.

 

_ But why shouldn't he be? When in his life has he been in a place where anyone could teach him?  _ She shook her head quickly.  “Right, right.  Sorry.”

 

She edged in through the door, climbing down to the intersection of landing and wall.  There she took the pack off again and set it down, ready to move faster if need be, and reached out to test the railing bolted to the wall.  It held when she leaned on it.  She kept one hand on it in a tight grip as she stretched out to pluck the knife from the wall – it came free easily – and then grab at the paper before it drifted down the stairs.  She edged back to look at it.

 

Whoever had written it had enjoyed only slightly more education in letters than Ra'kesh.  Their handwriting was large and careful, a recent blotty ink-scratch on the surface of a piece of paper that, judging by the pattern of orange fibers around its edges, was hundreds of years old.

 

DONT GO THIZ WAY

METL SPIDDERS WIL KIL YOU

 

“Don't go this way, metal spiders will kill you?”

  
  


Ra'kesh dragged his pack inside the corridor and shut the door behind them, attempting to make as little noise as possible but failing as the rusted hinges squeaked.  He left his pack where it was.  It could wait safely for now, as lugging it around probably wouldn't give him any advantages here.

 

“Oh, good,” Ra'kesh said with a sarcastic sweetness in his voice.  “This one would much rather die by spiders than bandits any day.” He crept down the staircase, which twisted several times.  At one turn the fetid stench of rot hit him.  He gagged and held his shirt over his nose before continuing.  He could still sense the aura of what was evidently a spider centurion moving about below, and now he could hear it too.  It's metal joints rattled as it scurried about.

 

At the bottom of the stairs lay the source of the smell: a decaying Redguard in badly scuffed netch leather, laying face down, facing the staircase.  It looked as if the man had tried to flee but didn't quite make it.

 

Kala heard Ra'kesh's reaction before the smell hit her.  It was awful in the confined corridor, and for a moment she coughed, resisting the dry heaves; she couldn't imagine what it must be like for a Khajiit.

 

“Mistress knows the words to disarm spiders...  right?” Ra’kesh asked hopefully, looking back at Kala.

 

“Actually…” She looked around them slowly.  The style of the light fixture was distinct, and the doors had a very familiar chevron design embossed into the metal.  “Actually yes.  Probably.  This was built before the Dwemer discovered aetherium, around… 1E 220 to 225? They weren't diversifying their passwords yet.” She edged past him and cupped her hands around her mouth, then called down softly,

 

“Hhekva!”

 

The aura below them became still.  The metallic ticka-ticka-ticka of many legs became a soft hiss of steam escaping as the machine idled.

 

“Ha! Yes!” Kala went up to grab her pack and hurry back down.  “Hhekva means “stop.” It sets them to idle until they're told otherwise.  I can tell it to attack everything alive but us, too, assuming my pronunciation is coherent enough.  It's how the Dwemer set them before they all disappeared, so it's easy enough to do.”

 

“Hhekva,” Ra'kesh said experimentally, testing the word out in case he had to use it.

 

He gingerly stepped around the body and descended one more section of stairs before finally reaching the bottom.  It opened into a large room with heavy metal doors on the three opposite walls, all of them badly rusted.  Steam hissed from within pipes that ran across the ceiling into the adjacent rooms.  More dim, sickly yellow lights lined the walls at regular intervals and broken down, extremely rotted pieces of crate and furniture were strewn around the room.  In the far corner was their idling centurion.  Ra'kesh approached it cautiously, but it didn't react.

 

The ten person-sized auras were still faintly detectable somewhere past the doors on the Northern wall.

 

“We might be able to ambush them one by one, if they are spread out at all,” Ra'kesh suggested, not very optimistically.  “OR....  Mistress could go home, and not die for old metal junk.”

 

“Ha.  No, Mistress has a better idea.” She darkened for a second as she realized that she had just called herself  _ mistress  _ for the first time, then shook it off.  She moved toward the Western door, trying to go softly – she was no Khajiit, but at least her boots had soft soles – and peered at it, not touching.  The spider centurion hissed quietly to itself, steam occasionally escaping from its tarnished brass joints.

 

“Does this look or smell trapped to you?” She whispered.  “Some of these things have self-renewing enchantments that shock you when you open them.”

 

There was no thin skin of visible magicka over the surface to suggest enchantment.  It smelled only of oil and rust, no hint of void salts or other strange chemicals that might be used to run a magical trap.

 

Ra'kesh hadn't been joking.  He let the matter drop, knowing that nothing would convince Kala to give up her quest and her odds of survival were better if he cooperated.

 

A week ago Ra'kesh would not have cared.  He ignored the irritating thought and moved to inspect the door, nose and whiskers twitching.

 

“No, it does not seem so.” Holding his breath, he carefully laid a hand against the metal surface and nothing happened.  He looked to her.  “What is Mistress thinking?”

 

“Oh.  You – well.” She was momentarily taken aback as he tested it with his hand.  “Right.  The note said spiders, plural.  We've only found one.  I want to know where the rest are.  Then maybe we can do something about our bandit… problem… with minimal risk to you and me.  At the very least we can reduce and distract them.  These things can give you quite a shock.  Also quite a stab.  Their legs are sharp.”

 

Ra'kesh grinned deviously, instantly realizing what it was Kala intended to do.

 

She pushed at the door.  The semicircle creaked its way open, revealing another dimly-lit corridor beyond.  As she moved toward it, she and Ra'kesh both sensed more animate bodies in the distance – and Ra'kesh's sensitive ears picked up the gentle tick-tick-tick of many little legs.

 

Padding silently down the hall, Ra'kesh peered around the corner to an opening on his right.  Another large room full of rusted frames and wooden scraps that had once been furniture.  Two spiders scurried towards him carrying little square sheets of metal in their curled front set of legs, no doubt executing some task that had kept the ancient city running after all these centuries.

 

“Hhekva!” he commanded, stopping the spiders in their tracks.  Glancing to either side of him before entering the room, he approached the idling spiders and picked one of them up by grabbing legs on either side of its body.  He “oofed.” It was heavier than it looked.  Ra'kesh half-carried, half-dragged the thing back to the original room, placing it next to the other.

 

It wasn't long before they had amassed a tiny army of about 15 spiders, completely cleaning out the Western wing of its workforce.

 

Kala grinned at their little force of spiders, hands on her hips.  Perhaps she ought not be so gleeful about what she was about to do – if it went  _ exactly  _ right, she was about to kill several people – but she had not forgotten the nasty little voice out of the shadow.

 

“Ssakht veh,” she said, waving a hand, and then tapped it against her chest.  The spiders moved around toward her in unison - they had no faces, but there was an approximate “front” where the legs came together - then tapped their little feet in a weird little chorus as they reoriented to face forward.  The bizarre shadows they cast made an intricate pattern of movement on the walls.  “Okay, do what I just did.  It tells them you're exempt when they're reactivated.  Basically they think you're a Dwemer.”

 

Ra'kesh's eyes widened in alarm when the spiders began moving again.

 

“Sackt veh!” he said clumsily, quickly mimicking the movement of her hand.  “Gods, tell Ra'kesh before turning them on.  He almost had a heart attack.” But they had only reoriented themselves and stopped moving after that.  The fur along his spine relaxed as he calmed.

 

Facing North, he could sense three people on the same level far away and to the left of the door, as if they were in a room near the end of another corridor.  They weren't moving much.

 

“Sorry,” she said unrepentantly, still grinning.  She had never seen anything like this.  Even if they didn't find a single thing it would still be worth it to have interacted with real Dwemer devices, seen them working as they were meant to work.  It continually amazed her that they had been able to create mechanisms that moved like living things clear back in the First Era.

 

“Can Mistress command these creatures with specific instruction?” he asked.

 

“Not very specific, no.  I can tell them to attack everything that isn't us and open the door to where we want them to go.  They'll automatically go through any door that's opened in front of them.” She followed the direction of his gaze.  “Worth a try.  Maybe they won't get a chance to get an alarm off.”

 

“Or, we could lure bandits back here,” Ra'kesh said.  After a quick inspection to make sure it wasn't trapped, he cracked open the North door and poked his head out.  Before them stretched another long corridor with a flight of stairs leading up at the end.  There were several closed rooms down the hall, but just before the stairs was a room with its doors propped open.  The shadow of a man moved against the floor outside.

 

Ra'kesh nodded at Kala, signaling her to get ready.

 

“Oh, Seraaaa,” Ra'kesh called out in a pouting falsetto that was laughably unconvincing.  “This one has lost her blouse.  Can anyone help her?” He immediately ducked back inside and slammed the door.  He could make out the muffled sound of chairs scraping against the floor and three sets of boots in the hallway.  He pressed himself against the wall by the door, so that when they opened he would be hidden, and so that he could control the door if needed.

 

Kala clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle an involuntary guffaw.  She said in a strangled whisper,

 

“Lost her  _ blouse?  _ Oh, come  _ on.”  _ Then she turned to hurry to the back corner of the room, maneuvering between the spider centurions as she moved out of immediate sight of the door.

 

“What the-” an indignant voice was audible to Ra’kesh.

 

“Farmin died in there, don't go in!”

 

“Idiot.  If there were any spiders left, that guy wouldn't be around to shout.  Jens said that Elgedil saw two people outside.  It's probably them.”

 

The footsteps and the three male voices were just outside now.

 

Kala ducked behind a stack of iron barrels, hoping to go unnoticed.  She listened, kneeling on one knee as she peered through a crack between the containers, hand resting on the cold, rough metal.

 

The door pushed open.  Ra'kesh grabbed hold of the hand grip running across it.  A large Nord in fur armor entered cautiously, war axe raised and ready to strike.  The man noticed the cluster of spiders and stopped advancing.

 

“They're just sitting there!” a voice in the doorway exclaimed.  He stepped forward to stand beside the Nord, revealing himself as an Imperial.  He carried an iron shortsword and wore a dented steel plate cuirass and leather boots, but the rest of him was unprotected.  The third person to enter was clad in a full suit of chitin including a helm, obscuring his features.  A sword was sheathed at his side.

 

“Where'd they go?” The Imperial asked.  The Nord nodded in the direction of the Western doors, which had been left open.

 

“Through there.  Those morons think we're going to follow them into a trap.” He stepped forward to inspect the spiders.  His companions followed, but were reluctant to come close to the things.  He leaned over one and nudged it with his boot.

 

“Don't do that!” The Imperial cried hysterically.

 

“Shut up.  They're broken somehow.”

 

Ra'kesh did not dare twitch a single muscle.  He tensed, waiting for Kala's words to reactivate the spiders.

 

When she spoke her voice was clear and distinct.  She had always been proud of her ability to pronounce Dwemer gutturals, and it did not fail her now.

 

“Shavgh vhet-unak,” she said, the command phrase for  _ on guard, attack all strangers. _

 

The centurions immediately converged on the three men with a frenzied orchestra of metallic taps and clicks, speed impaired but slightly by their age and decrepit condition.  They scrabbled and jabbed at the invaders with sharp little legs, climbing over one another in their eagerness to attack.  White light strobed as those who could not reach inflated the bags of magicka-impregnated fabric on top of their chassis, expelling powerful jolts of lightning.  The power did not impair the others, did not even seem to affect them; it danced over their tarnished brass bodies and earthed itself in flesh, in armor, in the dull metal of the floor.

 

Ra'kesh slammed shut the door the moment Kala spoke, but it turned out he didn't need to.  The Nord and the Imperial were both dead in seconds, but not before loosing terrible screams that made Ra'kesh shudder.  The man in chitin lasted slightly longer than his companions.  Knowing it was a futile fight, he turned to retreat, but the swarm of centurions scuttled after him, clawing at his boots with their forelegs.  He tripped and landed face-first on the floor, screaming and thrashing as the spiders swarmed over him.  Jolt after jolt of lightning zapped his body until smoke started rising from the joints of his armor, accompanied with the stench of scorched flesh.  He finally stopped moving, cooked inside his own armor.  He didn't even get a chance to draw his sword.

 

Kala edged out from behind the barrels, yellow eyes round.  It had stopped being funny.   _ I've just killed three people.  They were bad people, but they were alive, and now they are dead.   _ Her stomach turned, and she turned to lean her head behind the barrels for a second in case she was about to throw up; but she did not.  She just coughed a couple of times, swallowing sour bile.

 

Ra'kesh watched Kala's reaction with sympathy.  He had been cringing while the last man died.  It wasn't easy to watch, although he didn't feel particularly bad now that they were dead.

 

He walked over and picked up the dead Nord's axe.  It was steel, in good condition.  He slipped it into his belt and turned back to Kala.

 

The spider centurions milled about for a moment, occasionally poking at the bodies to make sure they were dead, and then began to split up and prod at the doors that were shut.  One walked up to Ra'kesh, inflated and deflated its head-sac, and daintily minced over to tiptap on the wall, TAK TAK TAK.

 

There was a distant answering TAK TAK TAK from farther to the West, and down.  Kala raised her head at the sound.

 

“That's not a documented behavior.  I wonder what they're doing.”

 

Ra’kesh froze when the spider approached him.

 

“Ra'kesh doesn't like it one bit,” he said, eyes following the little thing with deep suspicion.  “Hhekva!”

 

All of the centurions paused in place, then transitioned into their idle positions, standing composedly on the floor as their joints gently steamed.  From down the western stairs came the clank of armored boots.  If Ra'kesh had ever heard someone walking in Dwemer armor, it would seem very familiar.

 

“Oh, I see,” Kala said.  “It couldn't open the door, so it summoned something with thumbs.” She stared at the West door, then grabbed up her pack.  “Change of plans.  Back out the way we came and shut the door, fast.  I have no command words for what's coming and we don't want it to see us before it sees that door _. _ ” She headed that way, clinging to the straps of her pack.  “They don't have life detection, only line of sight.   If we're quiet it might not know!.”

 

Ra'kesh's eyes bugged, ears snapping back to the approaching metallic clangs.  He shot up the stairs comically fast, dancing to the side to avoid the body he'd nearly forgotten was there.  He took up his pack at the top of the stairs and opened the door for Kala, who was up a few moments later.

 

The rusty door screeched shut behind them.  He dropped to one knee and leaned against the door, chest heaving more in fear than exertion.  It was dark outside now, and the auras of the bandits were all in similar positions to earlier...  except for the three that were dead.  One large aura moved steadily below them now, heading North.  The other life signs slowly blinked out as the thing moved throughout the ancient city.  The night was utterly quiet, but Ra'kesh knew people were dying below.

 

The detection effect started to fade.

 

Kala leaned against the door beside him, one hand over her mouth as she watched the little lights go out.  It was with dread rather than relief that she fumbled out another pair of potions.  She had a few of these.  The ingredients were much easier to find than invisibility.  She handed one to Ra'kesh as she downed the other.

 

She was sure that the spell was working because she was able to detect the Bosmer at the surface of the ruin, a purple glow a little smaller than a human.  And the large aura still stood North of their previous position, now stationary.  Everything else was gone.  The spiders were too small to be detectable from this far up, and every single other living thing was dead -

 

No, wait.  One remained.  There was something alive high above the great purple aura, something slender and small.

 

“It can't hear us from down there,” she whispered hoarsely, but could not bring herself to raise her voice again.  “It's a steam centurion, I'm sure of it.  Rare to find a functional one but, but it would explain why this place hasn't been fully described before.  They're powerfully resistant to magic and nobody knows the words that control them.  The spiders must have activated it somehow.”

 

\---

 

“Sotha's Grace,” Celaren swore passionately under his breath as he leaned against the brass pillar, narrow shoulders pressed hard against the surface as he tried to force down panic.  A delicately pointed ear brushed the cold metal.  He could hear the construct hissing and clanking below, its heavy tread as it occasionally stamped its feet in place.  There was no other sound.  Everyone else was dead.

 

One entire wall of the vast chamber was taken up by two balcony-shelves and the pillars that held them up.  The one below him could be reached by traveling up through the stairs from the doorways at ground level.  The area that he presently occupied could only be reached by levitation.  His feet stirred dust untouched in hundreds of years.  There was nothing up here but a couple of heavy Dwemer chests and what looked like a buffet table or china cabinet, made of the same tarnished, rotting brass as nearly everything inside Drakan-Ka.

 

He had only had one potion of Rising Force, and that was not a purchase; he had found it in a crate below on their first day and saved it just in case, hiding it from the others lest he be forced to give it up.  He had a reasonable chance of success at casting Slowfall, if he should survive to regain his power.  But then what? He was no scholar – gods help him, he certainly was not – but he had heard tales of the old Dwemer creations, their seemingly infinite power sources, their indefatigable ferocity.  The power of his charms and illusions, the power that had made him the dread of his living comrades, would be nothing at all to a creature of unliving metal.  He had a few spells from Alteration, a very limited set of Destruction, and no Conjuration at all.

 

_ So I am fated to starve to death atop a shelf in this miserable underground tomb.  Father always said I would come to a bad end.   _ He supposed the old man would be pleased to be proven right, damn his eyes.

 

Celaren risked a look down.  The centurion looked up with empty, black eye slits, clamping its brass jaw up and down.  The mace that terminated its right arm was dark with blood, and he could see the body of Helvas lying not far off.  The Imperial was nearly broken in half, spine bent at an unnatural angle.  The corpse had ceased even to twitch now.

 

\---

 

“They stopped moving,” Ra'kesh whispered after downing his second potion as well.  “Bosmer hasn't moved; probably doesn't know what happened to his buddies.  Might be able to pick him off now, but what point is there? That thing is inside the ruin.” Ra'kesh sunk down to rest on his behind, exhaling loudly.  He pinched the bridge of his nose while thinking for a moment.  He was so tired.

 

“In this darkness, Ra'kesh can probably sneak up.  He will creep around in wide circle.  Bosmer will never see.”

 

Kala touched his shoulder reassuringly without thinking about what she was doing, then colored up again as she realized.

 

“Sorry,” Kala said softly.  “We could always give him a chance to run.  Once he's gone there's a chance I can find the command words inside the entry rooms and shut the thing down.  Whoever's left alive in there is just hiding from that thing.  We can probably convince them to leave, right?”

 

His obvious fatigue reminded her that she had been walking and carrying all day, too, but she still had more food and exercise in her recent past than he did.  She did not yet ache enough for sitting down to feel seductive and difficult to resist.  And this was a Dwemer puzzle.  It was one of the things she lived for.

 

Ra'kesh looked her in the eyes.  The corner of his upper lip quirked in a weak but appreciative smile.

 

“No, this is foolish.  He gave us a chance to run, and we brought their slaughter.  Never let an enemy run.  Ra'kesh has element of surprise in his hand.  It must not be wasted.” He spoke gently, as if explaining an unpleasant fact of life to a naive child.  In many ways, Kala was.  He envied her innocence.

 

Ra'kesh pushed himself to his feet and drew his dagger in advance.  He glanced back at Kala and, flashing her a toothy grin, crept out from their hiding place.  He knew just how to move to keep his clothes from rustling and his claws retracted to avoid scratching against a stone or pebble.  His thick paw pads made no noise against the ground.

 

Kala did not argue with him.  She knew that he was right, and it was cowardly to risk both their lives because she didn't want to add to their tally of horribly dead bodies.  Also, he had looked right at her again, and for some reason she felt a little stunned.  She watched him go with wide, blank eyes.

 

When he was out of sight she shook her head, cursing softly under her breath.  “Almalexia's tits...” That was a bad habit, too.  Ra'kesh was a bad influence, she told herself severely.  If a Temple priest heard her say something like that she could be arrested, or at the very least fined.   _ You look like you were raised properly, so I'm going to let you off with a warning, young lady. _

 

Rather than head straight for the Bosmer, Ra’kesh moved in an arc towards the hills.  As he closed in on his prey, Ra'kesh's keen eyes could clearly make out the mer sitting on a metal chair that had been drug outside.  A crate with several bottles on the lid, some tipped over and empty, were beside him.  His bow lay across his lap.  The Bosmer stared into the night, studying the black objects that he could make out against the starless, cloudy sky.  He was no doubt relying on his ears more than his eyes, but Ra'kesh would make no sounds.

 

He was pressed close to the rocky hillside now, and could not see the Bosmer himself, but the aura was there.  He waited until he could hear the mer shift in his seat.  Readying his dagger, Ra'kesh sprang to close the short distance between them.  Running caused slight sound, but it was too late.  Elgedil's bow was up and pointing in the direction of the sound, but Ra'kesh easily knocked it aside with one hand before the arrow could be nocked and slashed the mer's throat with the other.  He screeched and tumbled backwards onto the chair, which banged against the doorway behind it with a loud metallic THWANG.

 

The lookout flopped and gurgled on the ground.  Ra'kesh stepped on Elgedil's legs with one foot to keep him in place and buried his dagger in the unarmored chest, ending his misery.  The purple aura faded away.

 

He retrieved his dagger with a wet  _ shlip _ and cleaned it on the dead man's tunic.

 

“It is safe now,” he called across the field towards Kala.  Then he remembered his pack was over there, and trotted back to her position.

 

Kala watched the light go out.  From inside the little vestibule with its twisted stair she heard nothing.  When she saw him open the door again she picked up his pack and wordlessly handed it to him, then shouldered her own, sighing.

 

“Thank you.  I would not have been able to do that.  I guess I'll have to learn, if I want to make Dwemer scholarship my career.”

 

_ Pay attention, apprentices.  If you really want to specialize in archaeology, first you're going to have to learn to gruesomely murder fellow sentient creatures.  Now, this is the carotid artery.  When severed it makes quite a mess.  Next we will demonstrate some effects of electrocution! This should be very educational for you High Elves with sensitivity to elemental magicka… _

 

She shuddered as she hiked back over to the dark little valley where the Bosmer had been.  It was fully dark outside now, too cloudy to really see Jode and Jone, and the air was chilly.  Steam puffed from between her lips as she breathed.  The fog crowded in around them as she accidentally kicked a glass bottle, produce a rattle and clatter as it hit its fellows.  She flinched, glancing sheepishly at Ra'kesh.  A cliff racer SQUONK'ed somewhere off out in the fog, but no attack happened.  After a moment she picked up one of the empties from the crate to look at the label.  There was none.

 

“Someone's been doing some field alchemy.” She wafted one hand across the top of it, waving the smell toward her nose.  It might have been a pointless thing to do, but it seemed like a better idea than closely inspecting the dead Bosmer with a hole in his chest and his throat cut from ear to ear.

 

There was a round doorway behind him, the double half-circular doors that the Dwemer had always preferred before the days of aetherium and their more angular installations in Skyrim.  Some day she would go and see one.  There were no giant mushrooms in Skyrim, it was said, only trees, and giants walked the land.  It must be a strange country.

 

Ra'kesh focused on the two auras that were still visible deep in the belly of the ruins.  They were not an immediate threat, being so far away, but it was not a comforting feeling to know that these two remained.  And they would run out of detection potions eventually.

 

“Being unaccustomed to death is not bad thing,” he said mildly, pushing on the metal door.  It creaked open to reveal another chamber much like the one below, but this room showed signs of having been lived in.  Multiple bedrolls and a table of equipment lined one end of the room, more empty bottles were strewn about, and there were several steel barrels positioned by the door.  They did not have the characteristic layer of dust like everything else in Drakan-Ka.  Ra'kesh removed the lid of one, revealing a stash of ancient metal cutlery.  His eyes went wide.

 

“After this, Mistress will be able to afford better protection than one scrappy Khajiit,” he said, setting the lid on the floor against the keg.  He had to resist the urge to start shoveling items into his bag.  It was heavy enough as it was, and they could do that on their way back.

 

“Thanks,” she said.  Her lips twisted wryly around the tusks.  “You know, if there's anything I've learned from you, it's that I'm incredibly obvious.  I'm going to have to start working on that - ” She broke off as she heard the lid of the barrel scrape, then went to see what he was looking at.

 

“Oh, good grief, they were stealing artifacts? Those  _ fetchers!”  _ Kala glared indignantly around at the mess.  “And these are First Era, too.  If the Empire caught them they'd string them up by their heels and good riddance.  I'm  _ not  _ sorry they're dead!” She stopped talking again as she realized what he had actually said.

 

“What? We can't take these.  They belong to the Empire of Cyrodiil.  They should be cataloged and put away somewhere with neat little tags on them, not sold to some rich Dunmer idiot to eat scrib jelly with.”

 

Ra'kesh's jaw dropped and he stared at her in complete bewilderment.  He slapped a palm to his face to rub at the headache that was forming.

 

“It is not stealing if the owners are dead and just left things laying around.  And why does Empire automatically own every inch of Tamriel just because they marched over and put a little flag in the ground? We found, it is ours!” An irritated growl had crept into his voice, tail whipping back and forth.  He crossed his arms stubbornly.

 

Kala looked at Ra'kesh, then at his tail, then back up at his face.  He was serious.  Here, in a place filled with antiquities no one had probably ever seen, with people trying to kill them, after he had just cut a Bosmer's throat outside, he was thinking about theft and money!

 

“Really?” she snapped.  “This is what you think is worth getting hostile over?  _ Silverware?? _ How about this, let's worry about the things that want to kill us  _ first,  _ and then later you can steal all their forks and use them to found your artifact-smuggling dynasty before you choke to death on skooma in the bowels of some wretched whorehouse somewhere.  Deal?”

 

His expression shifted instantly as if he'd been slapped.  Hurt and shock briefly flashed across his face before settling on an indignant frown.  He turned up his nose and whirled around, stalking to the other end of the room and shrugging off his pack next to the line of bedrolls.

 

“We should take turns keeping watch and deal with it tomorrow,” he said coldly, avoiding eye contact.  “Even Orc can hear that stomping before it gets very close.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Good idea,” said Kala, just as coldly.  “I'll watch first.” Even in her anger she knew that he was the more exhausted.  She brushed the dust from her hands.   She had uncovered a long brass plaque on the same wall as the doorway that led out into space.  An important part of her brain, the part that thought and analyzed and remembered how to pronounce Dwemer gutturals, was trying to point out that she'd hurt him, but she was not in a mood to listen.

 

Instead, she stalked over to her knapsack to get one of her empty books, a quill, and a sealed ink bottle and laid them out on one of the tables.  She fastidiously moved every single one of the empty bottles over to a different table before she sat down on the barrel someone had been using as a seat – Almsivi only knew what priceless stolen artifact they'd hidden in  _ there,  _ but she refused to check – and began sketching out a map of all that they had seen of the ruin so far.  The quill scritched softly but furiously over the paper's surface, like a tap-dancing ant.

 

Ra'kesh would have offered to take the first watch merely as a point of pride, but he was too annoyed to dispute her.

 

He unrolled his own bed and flung the others into a pile, not desiring to sleep in the sweat of an unwashed brigand.  Then he flopped down heavily with his back to Kala and glared at the wall.

 

He would have given up the argument quickly enough.  Did she really need to take it so far? Then he remembered that, no matter how much he may hate Dunmer for making him a slave, or resent Kala for participating in the system, he really only had himself to blame.  Kala's words may have been harsh, but they were also true.  He was a weak piece of garbage incapable of making good decisions for himself.

 

His existence had never benefited another person in his entire life.  Clearly, it was better both for his own sake and for society if he accepted his lot as less than a person.  After all, he'd willfully chosen this path the other night.  It was deeply emasculating to admit this, but he couldn't rationalize his decision in any other way.

 

He clamped his eyes shut against the beading moisture that threatened to drip down his scarred nose.  The scratching of Kala's pen was less distracting than his own tumultuous thoughts.  He lay awake in silent rage for a very long time before exhaustion finally won out and he fell into a fitful sleep.

 

Kala lost track of time quickly.  Drawing always did that to her, gradually easing her into a sort of trance where all that really existed was paper and pen.  Anger faded quickly as she worked, and when she looked up after two hours had passed she had to remind herself why she had been angry.  She felt no renewal of that emotion.  She felt guilt instead.

 

_ I shouldn't have talked to him that way.  I let it build up for too long and it just all came out at once.   _ She had known since she bought him that they would always be at cross-purposes in some way or other.  She had worked at not taking unfair advantage of her ownership and his slavery in that ongoing, subsumed conflict, and she had almost thought they were reconciled last night when he had talked about the rings.

 

Wouldn't that have been a nice dream, that she could magically heal skooma addiction just by being occasionally nice to someone she legally owned? That the fact he was stronger and better than when they had met would make it all right for her to have bought him? That was the sort of thinking that slavery led you into.  She could see why her parents hated it so much.  You could excuse anything to yourself.  She'd called herself  _ mistress  _ today without thinking about it, and that made her shudder with revulsion.

 

Kala got up and went to look out of the doorway that led to the spiral stair.  She was on a ledge on one wall of an enormous chamber.  Brass pillars held up shelves as big as the room behind her.  She could see little lights around a round doorway on the ground level opposite, a door that must be the same size as the one they had come in.  It looked like part of a doll's house from here, the yellow lights on either side tiny pinpricks in the vast darkness.

 

She could just see the steam centurion from here, though the sound of its joints and mechanisms was lost in the cavernous space.  It, too, seemed tiny from so far away.  She chose not to look closely at the litter of paler objects on the vast spread of empty ground behind it.  She had a feeling she already knew what they were.

 

\---

 

Celaren sat up with a start, quivering.  Something had changed.  Something in the shape of the space, some distant sound barely at the cusp of sensitive Altmer hearing, some quality of the air.  He wasn't sure how long he had slept.  He had tried throwing cups and plates at the centurion for a while.  It just ignored them, and they made no impact on its impervious body.  Finally he had curled up in the dust, shivering in fastidious distaste, and gone to sleep.

 

Now he breathed deeply, trying not to sneeze as he concentrated on the flow of magicka.  Well, he had slept long enough to get most of it back.  That was something.  He could probably slowfall, make himself invisible for the ten seconds it would take to get past the thing, then recast and creep away before it knew he was gone.  He stood up, brushing ardently at the dust on what had been a fine golden velvet robe before he came to this nasty place.

 

Well, all of it was his that he could hold on to while he Recalled back to his chambers in Vivec.  There would be no dividing shares with the others now.  That was a bright spot -

 

There was something on the balcony.  Celaren pressed himself hastily to the brass pillar, squinting.  A figure in a robe stood there, staring down at the centurion.  He was able to make out a green tint to the skin even in this dreadful light.  It was a squat little figure, in his opinion, probably a woman.  What? Some filthy Orsimer had come to steal his artifacts?!  He was suffused with indignation.   She had probably sneaked in the back way and set off the thrice-damned dwemer devices, explaining why he hadn't heard from Jyaldi and the other two who had been in the rear chamber.

 

If only he had been able to levitate, he could have walked on air all the way over there and Charmed her into walking right off the edge.  Now he would have to do things the hard way.  Celaren swore under his breath again and commenced his casting of the slowfall, then invisibility, a series of graceful gestures.  Then he walked off the edge, robe drifting around him as he passed over the mechanical man's head and down toward the floor.

 

\---

 

A slender young girl with snowy white fur and silver stripes approached him from a thick, black fog.  Her facial features shifted unnaturally in the darkness.  Were her almond-shaped eyes blue, or gold? Was her nose slender like Mother's or broad like Father's? He stared straight at the approaching Suthay, and yet couldn't perceive her.

 

“What is the matter, brother?” she asked in a playful, lilting tone.  Her voice echoed in the nothingness around them.

 

“Fasai-” he choked, tears springing from his eyes.  “Why can Ra'kesh not see you?”

 

She ignored his question and instead held up her hands, revealing too-tight slave bracers that cut into her flesh.  The fur on her arms was matted with blood.

 

“Why didn't you come for Fasai, brother? Why did you leave her to die?” Her voice was still cheerful.  She continued to approach; he tried to step back, but his legs were paralyzed.  She parted the fur of her neck, revealing that her throat was slashed.

 

Ra'kesh's eyes snapped open.  He jerked upright in his bed, eyes darting around until he remembered where he was.  His fought to calm his racing heart before Kala could see.  He realized with alarm that the mage wasn't anywhere in sight, and his detection had wore off.  He scrabbled to his feet while drawing his dagger.

 

“Kala?” he called, projecting his voice.

 

Kala's head jerked around at Ra'kesh's voice.  He sounded tense and upset.  She hurried back into the room, stopping just inside the doorway.

 

“What is it? Are you all – oh.”

 

She grasped immediately what had happened.  He had awakened and she had been out of sight.  She felt another pang of guilt as she saw the dagger in his hand.  He had been ready to run out and try to rescue her.  From a Dwemer steam centurion.  With a belt knife.

 

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” she said, raising her hands placatingly.  “I didn't mean to wake you – did I make a noise? - I was just on the landing.  I shouldn't have.  I know.”

 

\---

 

Someone called a name from out of sight, out in the vestibule – Kala, it sounded like – and the Orsimer turned and swiftly vanished from view.   _ Perfect, _ Celaren thought as his feet touched the tarnished floor just in front of the spiral stair.  Now he knew there were at least two, and they wouldn't see him coming.  He recast his invisibility again, glancing back at the centurion.  It was still where it had been, looking up at the ledge.  It looked small and unthreatening from over her, like a child's toy.   _ Ha. _

 

That spell was expensive, and his power would wane quickly if he had to keep recasting it, but two Charms ought to get him what he wanted up above if he could retain the advantage of stealth.  He crept swiftly up the stairs on his soft shoes, agonizingly slow to avoid making a noise.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh's body sagged when he saw her.

 

“Oh, it is okay.  Ra'kesh woke on his own,” He sighed in relief, putting away the knife.  He smiled uneasily.  Their quarrel was forgotten, but he was still shaken by that dream.

 

“How long was Ra'kesh out?” he asked, moving over to the make-shift desk and studying Kala's work.

 

Kala exhaled, untensing a bit more herself.  He wasn't still angry.

 

“About four hours, I think.  I can't finish the map until we've been to the lower levels, but I've made some sketches that are reasonably accurate, and I took a rubbing of that panel by the door in charcoal.” That took up a few pages all by itself, after the map; she had used a piece of stiffened paper as a straight edge drawing the actual maps.  The plaque had absorbed a good hour of rubbing, blowing, and waiting for the charcoal to set before moving on to the next section.  “Did you get any sleep?”

 

Celaren accelerated as he heard them talking.  Good, the sound would cover his footsteps if he sped up a little.  Damnation to all steep stairs, anyway.  He was a little out of breath by the time he reached the top landing.  He paused to breathe, straightened his embroidered belt, and stepped into the doorway as he pressed his palms together and then outward.  The Charm shot outward and impacted on the Orsimer's back in a green cloud, dispersing a rapidly vanishing glitter of power over the creature's body.  She stiffened, then turned to look at him, smiling in a friendly way.  She was a little less ugly than some of them he had seen, he supposed.  They all looked alike to him.

 

“Hello,” she said.  “I don't think we've met.”

 

He was already trying to hit the rangy Khajiit with another casting of the same spell.

 

“Yes, some-” Ra’kesh started to respond but was cut off when the Altmer blasted Kala with an unknown spell.  He sprung out of the way but the spell hadn't been targeted on him anyway.  The second burst of magic almost did hit him- he barely managed to turn his body aside at the last moment.  His whiskers waved as the green cloud hurled past his face to fizzle against the far wall.

 

Ra'kesh was not especially proficient in throwing, but getting close to a spell caster would be certain death.  He threw his dagger at the mer's head.

 

Kala blinked as Ra'kesh's dagger flew past and  _ thocked  _ into the wall.  The handsome Altmer in the dusty velvet robe was suddenly a couple of feet further to one side than he had been.  She glanced back curiously.  She was now between him and Ra'kesh.

 

“Good heavens, the slave has gone mad! Kill him at once!” hissed the Altmer in her ear.  She felt deeply concerned for her new friend, and Ra'kesh did look angry.  Something had definitely gone wrong.  She felt odd, warm and floaty in a way that she had never felt before, certain that everything was just fine.  It felt good.  She couldn't remember ever feeling this way as an adult.

 

“Oh, Ra'kesh isn't  _ mad, _ ” she said, smiling.  “He's just angry.  It's hard being a slave, you know.  Slavery is a terrible institution.  I really shouldn't have bought him.  Calm down, Ra'kesh.”

 

“What is Mistress doing?” Ra’kesh snarled when Kala moved in front of the man.  He'd never seen this sort of magic before, but an understanding of what it must be slowly trickled into his mind.

 

“Don't you think you'd better do something about this?” persisted the Altmer, holding onto her shoulders from behind.  That was odd, but she couldn't say she minded.

 

“You're right.  I should have done something about it a long time ago.” Kala tugged the necklace over her head and tossed the key to Ra'kesh.  “Here.  Now you don't have to be angry any more.  You're free.”

 

Ra'kesh snatched the key out of the air automatically.  He looked from the little iron object in the palm of his hand up to her relaxed face with complete shock.  He flicked forward his ears, which had been laying flat, a sly grin spreading over his features.

 

“Ra'kesh must thank you, elven friend,” he said, inserting the key in his left bracer and twisting until he heard a satisfying click.  One bracer clanged against the floor, then the other.  He tossed the key down as well and rubbed at his forearms.  His fur was damp and matted from never being exposed to the air.

 

“Take good care of  _ Mistress _ Kala,” he snorted, waving a hand and turning towards the exit door.  He launched into a backflip towards Kala and the Altmer.  His hands smacked against the metal floor to propel himself back in another flip, twisting in mid-air so that he would be facing them when he came down to slam into them both legs-first, if the Altmer wasn't quick enough to dodge.

 

“Well, that isn't how I planned it, but I'll take - ” the Altmer was saying, when Ra'kesh suddenly became a blur.  Two big broad feet smacked into Kala's midsection, forcing the air out of her lungs as she was knocked back into the elf behind her.  She heard an  _ oof  _ and a  _ clang  _ as he hit the plaque nailed up by the doorpost, then she doubled over as she fell to her knees, gasping.

 

Celaren's head snapped back into the plaque as the solid weight of the Orsimer drove him back, making him see stars.  He cursed under his breath as she dropped in front of him, removing his shield of flesh, and then he was on his knees as well and rolling to get back to his feet.  One hand glowed with blue white light as he sought the Khajiit, hoping to make contact with his touch of frost.

 

Ra'kesh tumbled to the ground ungracefully after he hit but remembered to tuck into a roll.  He was up on one knee when he caught the flash of blue in the Altmer's hand.  There was no time to stand or dodge; he grabbed the arm at the elbow and yanked, flinging the man past himself as hard as he could manage.

 

Kala struggled to breathe as she heard the hiss of building magicka, then looked up in time to see Ra'kesh on one knee, hurling the Altmer past him one-handed.  The high elf hit the ground on his right side, spell dissipating with a puff of glittering light.  Whatever had been wrong with her – Charm, it must have been a Charm – was gone now.  Her mind was entirely clear as she reached out a hand toward the Altmer in a flinging gesture, casting the ribbon of health drain at his chest.  It anchored solidly as he struggled to get up, then doubled over, gasping in agony.  Altmer were more sensitive to magical power than other races.  It was a fact that was well known.

 

Ra'kesh turned, hand reaching for the Nord's axe still in his belt.  He could see the deadly ribbon of light that affixed itself to the mer's chest, who was facing away from him, and was vaguely aware that he'd better not get in the way of the beam.  He raised the axe and brought it down against the Altmer's shoulder.  The mer crumpled to the ground.

 

Ra'kesh hacked again.  Blood splurted across his face.  He snarled like a rabid wolf and hacked again.  And again.  And again.  When the Altmer's neck and shoulder was a grisly mash of gore the axe slipped from his hands and clattered against the ground.  He stood heaving over the motionless body, spittle dripping from his bared fangs.

 

The ribbon broke as the Altmer died.  Kala looked at the gory mess and felt no nausea at all, not even as the stench of recent death hit her nostrils.  She did not even feel sorry that he was dead.  Her stomach twisted a little as she realized what he had done, what he had tried to make  _ her  _ do, but he had failed.  She had to cling to that idea and push away the memory of false euphoria, the feeling of violation.   _ For now.   _ She felt that it would be back the next time she was alone.

 

Her eyes darted from the bloody corpse to the face of the snarling Khajiit.

 

“Ra'kesh?” she said softly, reaching out a hand to the doorpost.

 

His breathing slowed as his racing heart gradually returned to normal.  The angry snarl faded from his face.  He turned to her, still visibly upset, but much calmer than before.

 

“Is Mistress all right?” he asked with concern, realizing she was still on the ground.  He stepped towards her with one hand outstretched to help her up.  There were spatters of blood across his hand and arm.

 

“I'm fine, yes.  The spell's worn off.”

 

She took the hand without hesitation, trying not to lean too hard on him as she got to her feet.  She felt tired, and it showed on her face, the spaces under her eyes heavy and pale.  Sleep was a dread she could not encompass.  She looked down at his wrist, the fur still matted down from the bracers, and smiled very slightly.

 

“But I'm not your mistress any more.”


	10. Chapter 10

Ra'kesh said nothing, but his face held an awkward mix of emotions.  Relief, joy, disbelief, fear of an uncertain future...  He knew that she hadn't been “herself” when she released him, but he wasn't about to dispute it.  It had crossed his mind before that she may release him one day; she was that kind of person.

 

“Ra'kesh supposes so...  Kala,” he said after a long silence.  The name felt awkward on his tongue, even though he'd used it before.

 

He turned away from her, unable to say all of the things in his mind, and regarded the crumpled mess on the floor.  Ra'kesh grabbed the man by the legs and started dragging him over to the exit, leaving a smear of blood as he went.  He pushed open the door with his back and flung the body outside on top of his comrade.  He came back dusting off his hands.

 

Kala looked awful.  He suddenly remembered that she hadn't even slept since last night.

 

“Why doesn't..  Kala try to sleep? Ra'kesh will watch,” he offered.

 

She smiled again as he used her name.   _ Mistress _ had always bothered her.  Whatever happened from this point, that would no longer hang between them.  It was a relief.

 

Kala watched him drag the body away dumbly.  Offering help always took some diplomacy, and she did not feel capable of it at the moment – but she could do something about the blood, she supposed.  She went to root among the clutter of broken crates for some rags, then splashed the residue from one of the liquor bottles onto it.  Folding her robe up to her elbows, she began wiping it up, pushing from the room toward the door on her knees.  She was nearly there when he came back inside.

 

“I don't feel tired,” she said, sitting back on her heels.  “I don't think I could sleep.  Let's go turn off the centurion.  I want to finish my map.”

 

It was several seconds before it even occurred to her that he absolutely could have left the second he was free, and had not done so; and that he had just made an explicit offer to stay, which he did not have to do.

 

“I mean, if you'd like to go.” She stood up slowly, tossed the filthy rags out onto the bodies and reached over to pull the door shut.  A blast of colder air from outside puffed the loose strands of hair away from her face.  “There might be something else valuable down there.  To a freedman making a new start in life.  You know, something lighter weight than a barrel full of cutlery.  Sometimes there are gems in these places.  Probably easier to fence, too.”

 

She was babbling, and she knew it.  She went to get her book, flipping to the page with the rubbing copied from the wall plaque.

 

Ra'kesh watched her with an amused smile.  Kala seemed more uncomfortable about the situation than he was, if that was possible.  He leaned his shoulder against the door frame and casually crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Where is Ra'kesh to go, hmm? Fencing stolen goods is no career for a virtuous gentleman such as himself.  He needs honest work, and Kala needs an assistant.  Sorry to say, but she would be dead soon working out here alone.” He padded over to retrieve the knife and the axe, slipping the former into his belt and looking for something to clean the latter.

 

There were still greasy rags left lying about.  Handling Dwemer artifacts was hard work, and involved an excessive amount of tarnish and dust even for the most bathing-averse of bandits.

 

Kala sighed, running a finger down the plaque.  “Ghav-hash, Ghav-hasha, Ghav-hashim… Aha.  Ghavak-hashne.  Well, I would object to your constant impugning of my survival skills, but I think you've saved my life three times now, so that seems a bit pointless.” She tucked the book back into her knapsack and hauled it up to put it back on her shoulders, groaning at the weight.  She downed another strength potion and, when she thought Ra'kesh wasn't looking closely, one of the green-dot fatigue restoratives.  The weight of the world lifted, and she straightened her spine.

 

“When I looked into it, before I decided I couldn't afford it, bodyguards were hiring on for twenty a day plus expenses,” she said.  “Do you hire out on credit, Ra'kesh? I'm afraid all my references can say is  _ ffffft  _ or SQUONK.”

 

Ra'kesh doubled over in a fit of laughter.  He laughed longer and harder than the joke was worth, but he desperately needed the outlet of emotion.   Kala laughed as well, partly because he was.  It did help.  She felt better.

 

“That detail can be worked out later.  Besides, now that Kala cannot tell him what to do, he has his pick of any nice little artifacts to sell,” Ra’kesh said with his usual cheeky grin.  He wiped off his axe with another spare cloth and holstered this as well.

 

“Ra'kesh is joking,” he clarified, even if it had been obvious.  “He will respect Kala's sentimentality for dead elf junk.” He picked up his pack and bowed slightly, waving his hand towards the door with a flourish.

 

“I'm getting less sentimental every minute, believe me,” she said dryly.

 

“Ladies first.”

 

“Thanks, I don't mind if I do.” She headed out and down the long spiral staircase.  She chose not to think about what going back up the thing was going to be like.  Maybe she would have time to stop and make potions of the racer plumes still drying in her pack before they went back for the barrels.

 

_ And maybe I will have persuaded myself to waste an entire precious Rising Force on getting up some stairs.  I think not.  Let's worry about that later. _

 

Ra’kesh hadn't been intending on using another strength potion so soon, but the weight of the pack quickly wore on him.  Adrenaline was a hell of a drug and now that it was fading from his system he realized that his ribs ached where he had landed on them earlier.  His left elbow hurt as well.  He probably overextended it during that ridiculous flip.  If only Kala knew how lucky she was that he didn't falter then!  He probably couldn't do it twice.

 

Ra'kesh paused momentarily to pull out another potion before continuing down the steps.  With Kala in front he was able to stare mesmerized down at his bare forearms.  He rubbed at them, smoothing down the fur.  His skin there still felt overly sensitive.  He almost bumped into her when she stopped.

 

The steam centurion was still far across the giant room as they descended, staring up at the shelf high on the wall.  The Altmer must have made it down without the construct's realizing it.  Kala firmly blocked out memory of the feeling of his hands on her shoulders before it could give her the tremors.

 

“Here we go,” she told Ra'kesh, then shouted across the cavernous space, cupping her hands over her mouth.  “ _ Ghavak-hashne _ !”

 

The centurion stomped around in place until it faced them, joints hissing and steaming.  Then it made a noise like BLIP BOOP.  That was all.  It did not move again.

 

Five bodies were strewn around the cavernous room in various uncomfortable poses.  The first they came upon, near the stairs, was an Argonian fellow missing the upper portion of his head.

 

_ Oh, there it is, _ Ra'kesh thought, looking at the chunks of gore a few feet away.  He held his breath and stooped to search the young man's pockets, transferring the lockpick he found there to his own.  A dagger similar to the one he possessed lay on the floor by those cold fingers.  Little good that had done against metal skin.

 

Kala stiffened slightly as she felt Ra'kesh breathing down her neck –  _ unwanted hands on her shoulders, but everything seemed fine –  _ then forced herself to relax, pushing the sensation away.  She turned to watch the Khajiit searching the corpse of the Argonian.  She did not find herself upset by the goriness of the body.  She was starting to feel numb, head seemingly detached from her body and floating around over it like a balloon.

 

“I've heard it's possible to kill – to inactivate one of these automata with weapons,” she said distantly.  “They were made to be able to harm people in Dwemer gear, so you'd have to have something heavier than that.  Ebony, adamantine, or daedric.  I suppose if someone were an expert on their mechanics and very, very agile they might be able to do it with a daedric dagger, but.” She shrugged, looking around at the far-flung bodies.  “These men weren't exactly Morag Tong.”

 

The idea of civilized, contracted assassination seemed very far away from this place, this colossal darkness of brass and gears.  She could still feel the faint vibration of distant machinery through her feet, hear the echo of pistons in places far beneath.

 

_ Somewhere down there is the Engine of Greater Difference.  Finding it will make all of this make some kind of sense. _

 

She turned to head for the round door in the far wall.  From the shape of the spaces she had calculated for her map, it should lead right into the room where all the spiders were still waiting.  Now that she had more command words from the plaque, she should be able to make them a bit more useful.  She was in no hurry.  Her legs were tired, and Ra'kesh would want to check the other bodies.

 

Ra'kesh gazed up at the impossibly high ceiling of the cavernous chamber as he padded over to the other bodies.  The thick metal panels that constructed the ceiling were warped out of alignment in one part.  There was rubble on the ground below the hole from a rockslide, but the rest of the structure had held.  He wondered what use the Dwemer could possibly have for such a place.   Did they hate the beauty of the sky so much that even their courtyards must be underground?

 

Four more bodies were clustered together near the rubble.  They'd evidently overcome the typical criminal's everyone-for-themselves instincts and tried to fight together.  He rustled up a few more lockpicks, an enchanted amulet, and a ruby.

 

A cheap burlap satchel lying near the bodies contained several small bottles and a very worn leather-bound book.  He flipped through the yellowed and dog-eared pages searching for pictures.  There were none, and the ink was blurred from water damage.  He almost tossed it on the ground before remembering it might be something of use to Kala, and put it back in the satchel.

 

He uncorked one of the bottles.   _ Mazte.   _ He crinkled his nose at the strong odor.  It was probably home-brewed with ingredients of dubious quality, but he wasn't going to turn up his nose at free booze.  He slung the satchel over his shoulder and pulled out the amulet for closer inspection while he made his way back to Kala.

 

It was a piece of bone crudely carved in the shape of a netch, based on the tentacled legs.  It looked more like a lumpy muffin with legs to him.  He brushed his thumb over it, drawing its power into his own body and releasing the magicka within.  A tingling sensation entered his legs, filling his muscles with raw power.  He pushed off the ground with his toes and bounded several feet into the air as if flying.  It caught him off guard and he landed clumsily, stumbling backwards a few steps before he caught his balance again.  He laughed at the unexpected rush.

 

He float-bounced back to the mage.  It felt like walking underwater, but without the weight pressing down and making one slog in slow motion.  The effect faded away just as he reached her.

 

Kala heard a scuffle and a laugh behind her as she worked on crossing the cavernous space.  She turned to see Ra'kesh bounding back toward her with a sack in one hand and what turned out to be an amulet in the other.  She watched him put it on over his head, smiling mostly because he was smiling.

 

“Quite a handy thing,” he said, slipping the odd amulet over his own head with an amused grin.

 

“They must not have realized, or it might've saved more of them.” She glanced over at the high shelves again.  “I guess I should be glad they were that stupid.”

 

The round door yielded to her persistent tug at the handle with a creak and a groan.  The spider centurions were still inside, patiently waiting.

 

“Khev'hassa,” she told them, and made a pushing motion away from her and Ra'kesh.  They scrambled around and scattered back through the different doors.  Both halves of the door to the West still stood open, presumably as the centurion had left them.  Spiders tick-tacked away ahead of them, vanishing down a broad stair.  The yellow lights flickered and occasionally hummed up ahead.  A spider paused to unscrew a light that was defunct with a weird little attachment of its front feelers, then ran off with it down the hall.

 

An uncomfortable shiver ran down his spine when the spiders took off.

 

“Did she say 'get lost'? Mighty Alkosh, these things are unsettling.” He remembered the spider acting as if it were inspecting him earlier and couldn't shake the feeling that it somehow knew he wasn't really a Dwemer.

 

“It's a combination of a word that means 'clean' and a word that means 'fix.' From the context, it should set them to perform routine maintenance without attacking anything.”

 

“Ra'kesh supposes it is down those stairs next?” he asked with an exaggerated sigh.  “Deeper and deeper into the rusty tomb full of deadly contraptions they go.” He set off for the stairs at the end of the hall without really waiting for a reply.

 

Kala moved to follow him, hands on her straps.  He was already acting with a new certainty, no longer tethered by the bracers, and the entire quality of his movement seemed different.

 

_ Perhaps I was not in my right mind, but it was still the right thing.  A man should be free.   _ It would have been better if she had chosen to let him go voluntarily, of course.  All she could do now was resolve never to buy a slave again.

 

Ahead of him, the stairs went down two flights, with a small landing in between.  At the bottom they opened out into a larger room with a pool of some identifiable steaming gunk in one corner, stinking of metal and oil.  A mechanical arm attached to a complicated apparatus beside it stirred it constantly.  There were shelves along the walls, and a couple of barrels as well, both lidless and filled with broken gears and other junk.  Lockpicks and probes littered the bottom of one of the shelves, easily missed in the shadow.

 

Against the far wall, next to a doorless entry way leading to another stair, was a recess built into the tarnished brass.  It was labeled with a plaque in the Dwemer tongue.  One of the spiders was scraping dust and oil from the door frame.  Prints of two large boots led through the dust from the recess to the stair, but there were no other boot prints; the bandits had not come this way, probably because of the spiders.

 

A sullen red glow lit the far stair, and a definite draft of heat rose from below.

 

Ra'kesh gave the stirring machine a wide berth, eyeballing it suspiciously.  Instead he gravitated to the barrels like a moth to flame and started scrounging through them, tossing things on the dusty floor to get at whatever was at the bottom.  The metal parts clanged noisily against the floor even though he dropped them lightly.  None of it turned out to be worth taking.  He sneezed dust out of his nose and turned to the shelves, methodically checking every one.

 

When he added the lockpicks and probes to the satchel on his shoulder, Ra'kesh noticed grease all over his palms from the barrel.  He was already in a ruined shirt with a stranger's blood drying in his fur, so he shrugged and wiped it on his front.

 

The only way to go was further down.  The hot air that hit his face was pleasant in the cold of the ruin, although Ra'kesh felt as if he were about to willingly step into the Deadlands and face the unknown horrors of Oblivion.  He was prodded on by the fact that, whatever was down there, it must be worth a lot of gold.

 

While Ra'kesh was rooting through the barrels, Kala pulled out her sketchbook and a graphite pencil to extend her map onto a new page.  No one really knew what the oil-stirrers were for, although previous Dwemer scholars had often usefully noted that they were “deep” and “flammable” (in the very helpful words of Verius Carnigan).

 

“Looks like there's a lava well down there,” she said as he moved forward again.  “Mind your step.  Sometimes the floor becomes brittle.  You're fine if there's a grate over it, not so much if the floor looks buckled and the spiders are avoiding it.” She tucked the book under one arm as she followed him.

 

The stairs terminated in a narrow corridor that bent sharply to the left.  There was indeed a grating, a sturdy construction that still shone with the color of bright steel, perhaps because it was constantly polished by the heat waves rising from beneath.  Under it a pool of something that glowed crimson undulated gently, exuding fervent heat.  Around the corner was a blank wall, with stairs descending to right and left.  A rock fall had cut off the way to the left, hole in the ceiling filling the corridor with rocks and dirt.

 

He trod gently on the grate, testing every step before putting his full weight down.  His calloused pads barely felt the heat, but the rest of him did.

 

“Someone should open a Dwemer sauna.  Might get some business out to Dagon Fel,” he said.  The gurgles of the lava might have been peaceful if one stopped thinking about the painful death that would result from falling in.  His tail flicked at that thought.

 

“Guess we go right,” he said, turning down the stairs.

 

“Welcome to wholesome, historic Drakan-Ka! Enjoy our hot oil baths and lava basking, we're pretty sure the spiders won't stab you!” She kept her tone light as she followed him carefully, trying not to look down.  The warmth leached into her muscles, making her dizzy for a moment as she fought off the urge to let it relax her.  She rested one hand on the wall for a moment, stiffening her resolve before the Khajiit should see.  She had lost the staff somewhere.  Probably it was still leaning on the wall out in the little vestibule with the twisted staircase where they'd first come in.

 

She glanced over at the cave-in, but it looked like the spiders hadn't even tried to shift it.  There was no point in stopping to try it yet when there were still areas unexplored.  “Right it is.”

 

The way wound on through six more rooms and down five more staircases, and every so often Kala stopped to sketch as Ra'kesh looked over shelves and through barrels.  The path never significantly branched, though they passed another two cave-ins.  It was almost as if it was meant to lead somewhere.  As they went lower the amount of mysterious machinery increased – Kala was able to identify pipes and turbines, but not what they were for or where they led.  They gave off metallic-scented white steam into the increasingly warm air of the ruin.

 

Finally they passed down a long, high corridor, the ceiling out of sight in the darkness above, tattered banners lining the walls.  There was only one lone spider here, fruitlessly scraping at the accumulation of congealed oil on a series of joints that traveled up the wall.  They zigzagged up from bolt to bolt, moving rhythmically back and forth with a regular, almost hypnotic pumping and hissing noise.

 

Far ahead the hall opened out into a larger chamber.  It was not as large as the main hall far above them, but it was certainly big enough to swallow Kala's house in Balmora with room to spare on all sides.  Tables and shelves lined the walls, but these were eerily clean; as they approached Kala saw a spider with a white rag in its front palps or feelers actually dusting a brass wrench and putting it back onto a shelf again.  Even the floor was free of dust.

 

Most of the room was taken up by what at first looked like another great turbine, a huge tube of metal cut in half and laid flat side down on the floor, then riveted in place.  It had a window in one side as long as a large man and perhaps three feet high along its curvature, though the interior was impossible to see from their position across the room.  Dials and knobs covered a large panel to one side of the window.  The other was carved in the Dwemer script, unreadable at this distance.

 

Ra'kesh pulled out a metal bench that was pushed in under one of the tables, dropping his pack nearby on the floor and the satchel onto the immaculate table.  He wanted to peer inside the machine, but he had to sit down for a moment.  His body ached and he had a feeling this room would be their base of operations for a while.  There was no deeper to go.

 

He sat facing outward, elbows propped on the table behind him, and watched the awe turn to excitement on Kala's face as she studied the great machine.  It was refreshing to see, considering how shaken she had been a short time ago.

 

“This is the Engine, yes?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” Kala breathed, yellow eyes wide and gleaming, all fatigue forgotten.  She hurried over to set down her knapsack in front of the great engine – up close it was about twice the length of a tall man's body, perhaps thirteen feet - then ran to drag a table over closer.  It made less noise than she expected.  There was some kind of felt lining on the feet that time had not yet rotted away.  She carefully set aside a small sealed pot whose Dwemer writing proclaimed it to be “joint oil” and unloaded the books and writing materials she had brought.

 

It occurred to her suddenly that Ra'kesh was probably still very tired.  He had only slept for four hours or so before they were attacked, and he had performed a couple of physical feats of the sort she had thought quite impossible to most people, let alone a recently recovered skooma addict at the end of a long day.  She straightened, looking around.

 

“Most of these places still have hot water, if you want a wash – it's getting RID of the heat that's more of a problem at this depth.  They just hid their conveniences really well.  Some taboo matter or other.  No one really knows.” She chattered on happily as she headed for the back wall, tapping it with her fist.  It sounded hollow.  They always sounded hollow.  All of the structure would be interladen with machinery and support structures.  Still, a larger space should eventually produce a different sound -

 

As she paced along the wall toward the North the noise went from  _ bing, bing  _ to a deep, resounding BONG.  Looking closely at it, there was a deeper seam in the wall here, and it ended in a cross-seam about eight feet above the floor.

 

“Aha.” She pushed at it.  It swung open to reveal another dim yellow-lit space within.  There were rows of cubicles with full doors, each decorated with a shallow design akin to a sunburst on the brass surface, and a wide, shallow trough with faucets at about mid-thigh level facing the stalls (probably Dwemer waist-height).  The room looked relatively clean even if everything was very tarnished; the spiders had been here as well.  “There it is.”

 

“Wow.  Kala really knows her Dwemer cities,” he said appreciatively.  He pushed his all too heavy body off the bench and went to check the new room.

 

As soon as Ra'kesh had vanished into the bathing room Kala hurried back to her knapsack.  She paused to fold her robe down to waist-level and roll up the sleeves of her linen tunic – it really was warmer down here.  Then she dug out her tape measure and set to work documenting the engine's dimensions, drawing a diagram in her book as she went.  She had laid out the journal of notes she had taken in her long-term research across the libraries she could access through the Guild, and the very rough sketches she had found previously seemed to line up, more or less.  Admittedly, that wasn't saying much.  Only Veridael had made it down here some sixty years ago, and he had been almost out of water and delirious with fever when he arrived; he had Recalled home and forgotten most of the way back.  She'd had to piece it together from other sources.

 

When that was done she set about making a rubbing of the instructional plaque with her charcoals.  It was very clean, but unfortunately years of ardent polishing had made the raised letters much less easy to read than the dusty ones at ground level had been, an unexpected cost of long-term maintenance.  

 

Nothing happened initially after Ra’kesh twisted the tap over the trough.  There was an echoing sound from far away as water rushed through pipes.  The faucet sputtered, coughing up rusty brown goo into the trough.  He was about to turn it off and call it broken when a trickle of clear water finally appeared.  The stream strengthened quickly and fresh water poured forth.  Cupping his hands under the stream he found that it was, as Kala predicted, pleasantly warm.  He started to strip off his shirt so he could wash his face and neck without soaking it.

 

The tapping of tiny metal feet turned his attention to the open doorway.  The little spider which had been dusting previously had followed him in.

 

“Ra'kesh may be handsome, but no free shows,” he said, tossing his shirt over the spider's “head”.  It stopped in its tracks and scuttled backwards in confusion for a split second before peeling off the cloth with its front legs.  It folded the material with a deftness he would not have expected and began to convey it away.

 

“Hey!”

 

A little square door at ground level slid open on the farthest wall beyond the cubicles.  It was just big enough for the spider to disappear into, along with Ra'kesh's shirt.  The panel swished shut behind it.

 

“Ugh,” he said, deciding that it didn't matter.  He leaned down to splash the warm water on his front.  He purred low in his throat; the heat felt good.  When the blood was cleaned from his face, he set to work on his arms.  His undercoat was quite grimy from three weeks of confinement in the bracers.  He loitered at the sink far longer than he needed to be clean, but he felt much better when he rejoined Kala in the main chamber.

 

“Make any progress?” he asked her, walking over to inspect the Engine himself.

 

Kala was standing beside the plaque, leaning on the machine with one elbow as she tried to read the rubbings.  She glanced up at the familiar voice.

 

“Yes and no.  I think I've found how to turn it on, but I'm still not - ” She did a double take, then tried to look like she had not, going briskly over to the table to set down the book and dig through her pack.  “So, what happened to your shirt?”

 

“Well -” he stood with his mouth open for a moment, then closed it again.  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before continuing, “The spider centurion took it.  It went through a tiny door where no man could follow.  Ra'kesh is sure that the spider is sharing his scent with the rest of the hive, and they will come for his blood soon.” He sauntered back to the table and pulled out a bottle of mazte from the dead man's satchel, apparently unconcerned about the scenario he had just illustrated.

 

“Oh, good, fighting off the spiders will give you something to do,” she said dryly, tugging a small packet of pemmican out of her bag and setting it out next to some empty vials.  

 

“Is his assistance required, or can Ra'kesh get stinking drunk now?” he asked cheerfully, giving the bottle a shake.

 

“No, go ahead.  What comes next is probably going to be very dull and will take some time, because I have to fully document the control panel before I start pushing buttons.  I'd lay out your bedroll first, though.  If you pass out on the bare floor the spiders might think you're dead and haul you off to the lava well, whereas they'll recognize the bedroll as man-made.” She considered that.

 

“I wonder if they'll carry off the rest of the bodies now they're on the clean cycle, actually.  I hadn't thought about that.” It was too bad they'd left the two dead elves outside.  Well, if they went home spell-wise she wouldn't have to walk past the bodies, anyway.  That was nice, she supposed.  She suppressed another shudder as the Altmer's voice rose in memory –  _ Don't you think you should do something about this? -  _ and went to drag a short stool over to the control panel to sit in front of it and begin sketching again.

 

“This one is going to pretend that is a joke,” Ra’kesh said, but hurriedly laid out his bedroll near the table.  Then he closed the bathroom door so the spider couldn't come in through that way, although there was nothing he could do about the open doorway that lead to the hall.

 

He flopped down in a sitting position on his bed and uncorked the foul-smelling brew.  He chugged it straight from the bottle, sighing contentedly when the warm glow lit his insides.  It was one of the nastiest flavors ever to grace his tongue..  but one didn't drink for the taste.

 

He watched Kala for a while.  When that grew old he added the gold he'd stolen earlier to the rest of the gold in his pack and slipped the silver ring onto his pinky.  He counted it all again- 192 gold- and grinned.  He was free and he had money.  Not much, but enough to have a good time.  Plus he now had plenty of lockpicks and probes to get him started if he ever decided to take up thieving again.  Life was good.

 

When the first bottle had been drained and cast aside, and the next one was uncorked in his hands, he realized that being dry for so long (minus the one bottle of flin) had made him a lightweight.  He staggered to his feet and somehow managed to convince his legs to carry him over to the side of the room where Kala sat.  He slumped down with his back against the giant metal tube and looked at her with a goofy, unfocused grin.

 

“Share a drink?” he asked, raising the bottle as if in a toast.  A mouthful sloshed out onto the floor, prompting him to hug the bottle protectively against his furry chest.  He scowled at the lost mazte but was smiling stupidly a moment later.


	11. Chapter 11

Kala looked up.  The sketch was nearly done, and had narrowly avoided having mazte sloshed on it; she had jerked it away just in time.  She had opened her mouth to say something cutting when she saw the silly grin on his face.  It disarmed her at once.  She reached over to push one hand up his face from the nose-bridge all the way between his ears, greatly daring and perhaps a little punchy.

 

“No, silly Khajiit, I'm not ready to sleep yet.  Enjoy yourself, and go to bed."

 

His eyes crossed trying to follow her hand then closed in satisfaction at the touch.  He didn't have the self awareness to pretend he didn't enjoy it.

 

“Kala is good person,” he slurred.

 

He vaguely remembered that she was busy and that he was probably being a bother.  He had to set down the bottle and push himself up against the cylinder to stand.  He briefly looked over her shoulder to see what she was sketching, but it was all a blurred mess to him, so he retreated back to his bed with the mazte.

 

He was disappointed that she was so focused on her work.  He didn't dwell on the thought long as he continued to drink and inventory his new possessions.  After a while he passed out sideways across the bed, mouth hanging open and drooling on the floor.

 

Kala smiled at him, half-aware that she'd gotten away with it - that was a nice little warmth for a second, it almost made her forget why she desperately wanted not to sleep - and went back to work.  Eventually she progressed from sketches to experimentation, and that took several hours of work and documentation, back and forth between the table and the machine.  She was not sure how many hours it was.  There was no way to measure time in this place.

 

It was quiet, just her and the surprisingly soft clicks and whirrs of the great Engine; she couldn't even hear the drunken Khajiit's breathing over all of the static whisper of the mechanisms.  Even the death of the scrib made hardly a sound.

 

A few moments after that she sat bolt upright at the table, ink smeared on her hand and across the page.  She had written something, she was sure of it, but it blurred in front of her eyes as she reached blindly for a cloth to wipe off her fingers.  She felt her heart thundering in her ears, stomach trying to tie itself in knots.  She did not even clearly remember moving over from the Engine.  The door might have shut itself.

 

"Oh, Hells and damnation," she said aloud.  Her voice shook.  Her hands shook, too, as she stared at them.

  
  


##  _ Kala’s Notes On The Engine of Greater Difference _

 

_ N.B.: I am still uneasy about the initial translation of this phrase that I was given.  The word that Dro'vasha renders as “Difference” is sometimes also translated “Making” or “Repairing,” and the Dwemer have many interchangeable and connotationally different words for those concepts. _

  
  


_ STARTUP: The lever marked IGNITION was activated.  The machine is surprisingly quiet; perhaps it is simply running all of the time and this merely prepares it to act. _

  
  


_ TRIAL 1: An empty potion vial, intact, was placed inside the Engine's main chamber.  I activated a switched marked UNLIVING and then threw the lever marked ACTIVATE.  The lever gradually moved back to its original position throughout the following. _

 

_ RESULT: Thin lines of blue light activated inside the chamber and appeared to make contact with the bottle, playing over it as if touching or scanning.  This went on for two seconds.  The machine then made a noise I would characterize as a soft click, which in many Dwemer texts denotes an error.  The vial, when removed from the chamber, was unchanged. _

 

_ TRIAL 2: An empty potion vial, shattered with the butt of a geology hammer (the noise muffled with a cloth to avoid drawing spider centurions), was placed in its several fragments inside the Engine's main chamber.  I activated the same switches as before. _

 

_ RESULT: The same activity occurred, but this time as I watched the bottle slowly drew back together, as though the lances of light were actually repairing it.  When removed, the bottle was fully intact again, down to the makeshift label on its base. _

 

_ TRIAL 3: Trial 2 was repeated with a single shard.  A different vial was used from the one repaired before. _

 

_ RESULT: The error click was heard.  A blue light flashed on the console next to a switch marked with a phrase I have never seen, but which is similar to a few other cognates and may mean “MATERIAL” or “THING.” I flipped the switch. _

 

_ A new glass bottle was constructed from the shard.  It did not resemble the vial used at all, being much larger and in a traditional Dwemer style. _

 

_ TRIAL 4: I cut off a small patch of my robe, incorporating part of a seam, and placed it inside the main chamber.  The UNLIVING setting was used again. _

 

_ RESULT: The MATERIAL switch required being flipped again, and a light also came on near a dial with no label, just a series of hash-marks indicating low to high values.  I set it to the lowest mark. _

 

_ The chamber produced a robe of Dwemer design, small enough to fit what I expect was the size of a Dwemer child.  It was the same color and fabric as mine, but the style was distinctly Dwemer and fit what I am familiar with of the styles of 1E 120-130. _

 

_ TRIAL 5: I repeated Trial 4 with a similar piece of fabric, but this time set the dial to the maximum value. _

 

_ RESULT: A robe was produced large enough to cover an Ogrim or a Sload, or serve as a tent for a normal-sized person.  I have folded and set it aside with the smaller one. _

 

_ TRIAL 6: A single dried comberry was placed inside the main chamber.  I activated a switch marked LIVING before throwing the ACTIVATE lever. _

 

_ RESULT: The activity with the blue lances of light went on for much longer this time.  The comberry appeared to be completely consumed or destroyed, turning to dust and vanishing, but the lights went on.  As I watched a small comberry bush began to take shape inside the chamber, perfect in every detail.  Upon removal this was confirmed to be the case.  The leaves were green, and the roots were slightly soft to the touch, consistent with a mature but very young plant.  I set the comberry aside. _

 

_ TRIAL 7-9: I repeated Trial 6 with additional comberries. _

 

_ RESULT: One small bush appeared identical in every way to the first, but the second had a different arrangement of roots and branches. _

  
  


_ I speculate that the Engine recreated the parent bush from the berry somehow, and that one bush was different because I collected the berries originally from different plants when preparing pemmican for my expedition.  I shall test this hypothesis with two small portions of scrib jerky, which I know to have come from the same animal. _

  
  


_ TRIAL 10-11: I repeated Trial 6, but with small portions of scrib jerky, each a single inch-long strip about a quarter-inch wide. _

 

_ RESULT: Each trial resulted in the construction of a small adult scrib inside the main chamber.  A crimson ray different from those previously seen touched the creature's head for some seconds before the door was allowed to open, and shortly after it began to visibly breathe.  When I opened the chamber the first time, the scrib climbed out quite naturally and investigated my shoes entirely without the sort of fear of mer that is normal to wild animals.  I humanely killed it with a low-level frost spell before repeating the trial.  The result was the same.  I killed the second animal as well.  I will need them for the next phase of the experiment. _

 

_ TRIAL 12: A dead scrib, recently killed and slightly frozen, was placed inside the main chamber of the Engine.  I continued to use the LIVING setting and then threw the ACTIVATE switch. _

 

_ RESULT: All of the beams of light that touched the creature were red! I think they must be repairing it somehow.  When I let it out it showed fear of me this time, fleeing across the room before I was able to seize it.  It is the same scrib.  It is not a reconstruction.  I watched it the entire time, and the thing was not disintegrated. _

 

_ The Engine can raise the dead. _

 

_ The Engine can raise the dead (here the ink is smeared). _

 

Ra'kesh's eyes cracked open.  He squeezed them shut again when assaulted by the yellow light.  He groaned and rolled over on his stomach to escape the hard floor; he'd been laying on his side off the bedroll, arm pinned under himself.  He was going to ache for that.

 

What had woken him? That's right, Kala.  She sounded disturbed.

 

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked in her direction, opening his eyes to slits while they adjusted to the dim light.

 

“What is it?” he croaked.  His throat scratched like sandpaper.  He grasped for the water that was left laying by the bed.

 

Kala looked up at the voice, pushing herself around to face him as she sat on the three-legged stool.  Her face was nearer white than green.

 

“It can raise the dead,” she said.  “It can raise the dead.  Perhaps I've made a mistake.  I'll have to try it again.” She stood up, then stopped to lean on the table a moment, shaking her head as she saw spots.  “Try again.” Kala forced herself to straighten and went to tug the door to the chamber open again, leaning on the bulk of the machine.  One foot nudged the frozen scrib where it still sat perfectly stiff on the floor in front of the mechanism.

 

Ra'kesh barely processed her babbling.  He sat up and held his spinning head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees.  When the vertigo passed he looked up at her.  His eyes widened when they landed on the scrib.

 

“How did a scrib get down here?” he asked.

 

“Used to be a blob of pemmican.” She hauled up the frozen creature and shoved it into the machine with a dull CLONK, then pushed the door shut and leaned on the window as one hand reached over to almost automatically flip one particular switch and then push a lever all the way up.  “Not important.  Look!”

 

She edged to one side so that he could see in as the chamber lit up with a red glow.  Rays of crimson light darted out to caress the body of the creature, steam rising from its joints as it rapidly thawed.  Finally all but one faded, a single ray darting over its head.  It twitched suddenly to life, scrabbling at the floor and the window as it frantically tried to escape.

 

Kala slid down the outside of the machine slowly to sit on the floor.  After a moment she reached up and tipped the door open.  The scrib dove out and fled, headed across the great floor toward the distant stairs and the slightest draft of incoming fresh air.

 

The door shut with a click.

 

Ra'kesh watched in disbelief with wide saucer eyes as the scrib resurrected then scurried away.  He'd been reasonably sure that it was dead.  And...  pemmican? He hauled himself out of bed and approached the machine with confusion on his face.

 

Kala, sitting disheveled on the floor with a crazed gleam in her eye, looked touched by the Mad God this morning.

 

“What would this do..  to a person?” he asked uneasily.  He edged closer to look inside the window, as if this would give him some clue as to what was really going on.  It didn't.

 

"Well," she said slowly.  "Why don't you have some breakfast, and we'll go get that Bosmer from up top and find out?" She waved a dismissive hand.  "Lunch, tea.  I've no idea what time it is."

 

The look of disgust that flashed across the face was all the answer he needed to give.

 

“But that is necromancy..  and..  unnatural...” He rubbed the top of his hand with the palm of the other uncomfortably.  A part of him was intensely curious to know what would happen, but something just wasn't right about it.  “Their souls belong to Khenarthi now.”

 

Kala stared at him.  Then she began to laugh, softly at first, then louder, doubled over her own lap with her arms wrapped around her aching ribs.

 

"Idiot," she gasped.  "There is no faction in Tamriel - in Nirn! - that would not kill us both to possess this thing.  And you're worried about necromancy??" She went off again, desperately unable to stop herself, eyes stinging with tears.

 

He frowned.  He may not be a smart man, or a decent man, compared to her...  so how was it that he was so sure she was wrong?

 

“What does this have to do with anything? Every government has the blood of many on its hands, that does not mean it is right to use this thing because they would.” He shook his head, growing more certain of his position as he spoke.  “The Dwemer destroyed themselves somehow.  For all Kala knows, this was it.  Nothing good can come from playing god.”

 

Kala wheezed, trying to get her breath back.  She did not feel amused.  She wasn't sure why it was so hard to stop laughing.  It took her a moment even to process what he had said, and then her face shifted rapidly through several emotions - first a raised eyebrow, lips drawn back to make a disdainful retort; then her eyes widened and brows drew together in horrified realization; then her face seemed to collapse, mouth drawing down at the corners as she bent to rest her head in her hands.

 

“No.  You're right.  Of course you're right.” She could smell herself, she realized.  There was a visible sweat stain on the front of her linen tunic.  How long had it really been? “I'm sorry I called you an idiot.  I'm sorry for what I said yesterday, too.  Gods, I didn't even have the moral courage to free you when I was in my right mind, should  _ I  _ have power over life and death?” She climbed slowly upright, leaning on the machine for balance until she had her feet under her.  She could not look at Ra'kesh.

 

Ra'kesh shifted his gaze to the floor when she mentioned freeing him, but his hard frown melted to sympathy.

 

“No one is free from mistakes..  Right or wrong choice is not always clear.  She saved Ra'kesh from wasting away on farm or mine.  This was good.  He stole from Kala and abused her kindness, so these two are equals in fault.” He turned away and began picking up all the things he'd left out the night before just to have something to occupy his hands.

 

“You are a generous man.” Kala staggered over to get her spare robe and the little bag of soap from the knapsack.  “I'm going to have a wash,” she added prosaically.  She opened her mouth to tell him to eat something, but that was not her business any more, was it? She'd have to get out of the habit.

 

When Kala had gone, Ra'kesh dressed himself in the spare clothes from his pack, then pulled out his own pemmican.  He sat down at the bench to eat but his eyes were drawn towards the machine in the center of the room time and time again.

 

How badly decomposed could a body be before it wouldn't be repaired? Would the dead remember where their souls had been? Would they be glad to be alive or horrified to have been ripped away from the afterlife? He picked at the meat, chewing slowly while these thoughts turned in his mind.

 

Could he find the grave where his parents and sisters lay buried? It had been so long ago.  The stones he used to mark it were probably scattered, if he could even find the approximate spot-

His stomach turned at the image of their yellow bones flopped in a pile inside the machine, flesh springing from the remains like moss on a log.

 

He wrapped up the rest of the meat and put it away.  He wasn't hungry anymore.

 

Kala took the folded robe and went to pat around the wall blindly until she found the door to the restroom.  She turned on all the taps at once, one after the other, until they ran clear; then she stripped and threw her dirty clothes into the long trough of the sink to soak.  She pulled one of the stall doors open and hung the clean robe over it.  The boots she set by the door.

 

Hot water was not necessarily a good thing.  It got the sweat and soap off, but it also inclined her to relax, the muscles to unbind, her mind to go all fuzzy.  She was still not ready.

 

She shook herself dry as best she could, braided her hair again, and put on the spare robe, then shoved her feet into the boots.  She hung the wet things on the stall door again, hopefully up out of the spiders' reach.  One of the centurions burst from a little door in the wall, startling her, and ran around the floor with what appeared to be a large sponge.  She watched it blankly for several seconds.  It made an odd sort of squeaking noise.

 

_ Perhaps I am panicking prematurely.  Or perhaps Veridael made it just as far as I have and decided not to make it easy for anyone to get here because he found what I have found.  Perhaps he was not the only one.   _ A conspiracy of silence was not such a surprising idea among Dwemer scholars.  There were, as Ra'kesh had been saying in his own way, things mer were not meant to know.

 

And what else could she do but go away and say nothing? The expedition was not a total loss.  She had transcribed several new words in the Dwemer tongue that would make an interesting little volume on their own.  That would raise her stock academically, at least.  It was not the discovery of a lifetime, but the discovery of a lifetime was not worth the horrors this thing could bring.  There would be other opportunities, time to save up for other expeditions.

 

Kala emerged from the bathroom cleaner and slightly steadier than before.   Ra'kesh's fur would hide his pale complexion, but his ears and shoulders sagged.

 

The orc went to the table first, to get out some of the dried fruit and a rock-hard lump of scuttle.  She was already chewing a pear when she noticed Ra'kesh.  Her stomach complained when the food hit it – it had been more than twelve hours since she had eaten – but she ignored it.  She went over to sit on the bench beside him.

 

“What's wrong?” she asked quietly.

 

He opened his mouth to brush her off with a joke but when he glanced up to her concerned eyes it suddenly seemed wrong to be flippant when she was so caring.

 

“It is stupid,” he sighed.  “This one was thinking of his family.  They walk in the Eternal Sands together.  It would be cruel to rip them away from that even if he could.  Sister Fasai is probably there already also and he does not know where her body would be.  Now they must wait for Ra'kesh.” As soon as he spoke the words he realized how stupid it was that they would even want to see him after all this time.  He laughed harshly and stood, then began rolling up his bedroll.

 

“Ra'kesh does not even remember their faces.  They would be strangers now.  He doesn't know why he thought of it.” His voice was full of contempt.  He shouldn't have told her this.

 

“It is very natural to think of it when you have lost them,” she said.  Still deranged from lack of sleep, natural barriers cracking, she actually reached out to rub his back the instant before he got up.  She just missed in the moment before she remembered he had no shirt on, left sitting for one stupid instant with one upraised hand.  She lowered it quickly.

 

“Wait – did you say probably? You have a sister who might be alive?”

 

He sat on his knees to secure the bedroll in its straps, completely oblivious to Kala's outstretched hand.  It gave him an excuse to have this conversation without looking directly at her.

 

“She was missing from tent when Ra'kesh found family slain; probably slavers took her to Morrowind.  Legion is no good, they take bribes and won't hunt slavers.  So he joined pirates to find her but it was no use.  He gave up in time and just...  accepted life on the ship.” He turned his head away in shame, ears quivering.  Maybe it was the booze still in his system making him say all this.


	12. Chapter 12

Kala watched him, hands folded on her lap now.  Her brow knit in sympathy.  She had gotten lost, once, when she was five, wandered off down the alley and taken a few turns chasing after an interesting butterfly and then realized she didn't know where she was.  Her parents and brothers had been frantic by the time they'd found her.  They had combed blocks around the house, calling and knocking on doors, until they found her.  She had gotten a sound scolding and her mother had refused to let go of her for an hour.  The agony of losing an entire family must be something impossible to encompass.  No wonder he had turned to skooma.

 

“To find one slave in Vvardenfell alone would be nearly impossible.  Certainly for one man with no resources,” she said.  “It would take years, drakes, bribes to the right people.  How old would she be now? What did she look like?”

 

His tail flicked.  He knew all of that.  He'd spent many nights thinking of how impossible a task it was.  His lips pulled back in a scowl.

 

“What does it matter?” he snapped, facing her.  “Ra'kesh can do nothing and neither can Kala.” 

 

Two days about she would have flinched.  Now Ra'kesh being angry was almost a comfortable familiarity compared to the enormity of the thing in front of them.  She just waited.  She might be able to get the information from him later.  Papa had been able to find Zharra when she had been sold at least one time; it was not completely impossible he could find another Khajiit slave.  It was passing unlikely after so many years and such a cold trail, so there was no reason to bring it up unless there was any chance of results.

 

Ra’kesh closed his eyes and focused on his breath, fully aware that he was being an ass and needed to calm down.  She was just being kind.  When he opened his eyes the rage had subsided.

 

“He is sorry for his rudeness.  Let this be forgotten.” He stood.  “What today? More research?”

 

“I've thought about what you said before.  I think there's more at stake here than just me playing god.  Before I go away and never speak of this to anyone again, before I throw away years of work, I need to know that it really does do what I'm afraid it does.  Scribs are not people.  And if I put a corpse in there or a lock of hair and it does not become a living person, then there is nothing to fear, and I can publish my results and know that no one can use this thing for true evil.  Tell me that I'm wrong, Ra'kesh.”

 

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down as he thought for a moment.  It suddenly dawned on him that if he and Kala hadn't showed up, those stupid bandits might have been the first people to get their hands on this technology.  If not them, someone else.  What would happen if an unscrupulous type found this place after they left?

 

The whole thing set him on edge.  Such a machine should not exist.  But it did exist, and it was better Kala operating it than anyone else.

 

“No...” he said slowly.  “Kala is not wrong.” He heaved a sigh and sat down next to her again.

 

“It is better to know, and Kala must think very carefully about who to entrust this information to as well.  The Empire will want it, but there is already much tension between Dunmer and Man.  There could be war.”

 

“If it does what I think that it does, I will tell no one,” she said.  “I will tear those pages out of my notes, burn them, and publish a short treatise on the plaque we found at the entrance and the translation of it, nothing more.  That will be enough for anyone who wonders where I've been.”  _ And why I am not the same.   _  Some of the clever ones will notice.   Estirdalin would.   Ajira had a lot to worry about, at her age and still in her apprenticeship; Ranys Athrys could miss a guar standing on her own foot; but not much escaped the Destructionist.

 

“That won't stop anyone else from coming here and finding it,” she said.  “It took me almost two years of research to put together the notes, but it can be done again.  I almost wonder if one of the people who drew the map I used found the machine before, and went away and kept silent.  His story always seemed a little odd.”

 

His ears perked at that.

 

“Someone else was here? Perhaps Kala should find him after this and ask what he knows.  If it were something dangerous, he could have sabotaged it.  Then again, he may have never gotten past the centurion,” he said thoughtfully.  Ra'kesh's tone darkened at his next words.  “So..  if a bandit were revived, what should be done with it? Kill him again?”

 

“Nngh.” She rubbed at her forehead.  It was starting to ache again as color leached out of her complexion.  “Having a vicious, murdering imbecile with that knowledge is probably just as bad as if I told the Empire.  Maybe worse – no.  No.  I am not ready to commit murder to confirm what this thing does.  Nothing justifies that.  At least with a lock of hair the worst we should get is a copy of one of us.  Someone reasonable.”

 

Ra'kesh stiffened, eyes growing wide.

 

“Ra'kesh may not be the most learned Khajiit, but if there are two bodies yet one soul, he thinks this would pose a problem.” His agitated tail brushed against the floor as it curled back and forth.  “Besides...  what to do with a copy of oneself? Which one has the rights to your home and possessions? The copy may have to die either way.”

 

“But I have to know.” She got up, pacing back and forth as she ran her hands over her hair.  “It would be better to have to kill a bandit for the second time than to murder an innocent person, in that case.  The lesser of two evils.”

 

“Kala has a funny definition of 'innocent',” he sniffed.  “These men committed no crimes to our knowledge.  Although it can be surmised, all we really saw was a barrel of artifacts.  We did attack them first - ” He clamped his mouth shut when he realized this was probably not helpful and might upset Kala.  She was already bothered by killing in self defense.

 

Ra'kesh had been a criminal, and he had known many criminals.  Some of them he could call friends.  Breaking the law did not necessarily make someone a bad person, although perhaps a lifetime of living in that mould is what caused someone to become bad.

 

This line of reasoning was irrelevant.  They had killed the men once already; what difference did it make anymore if they were killed again?

 

“Kala is right.  It is better to use one of them.”

 

Kala made a noise under her breath, not quite a growl and not quite a groan, and turned to beat one fist against the top of the machine.  It made barely a noise.  She stood there for a moment, resting her head on the end of the Engine.

 

“We did attack them first.  Yes.”  _ Hands on her shoulders.  Everything was fine.   _ “And when I suggested we give the Bosmer a chance to surrender, do you remember what you said?”

 

“Yes,” he responded without needing to think back.  He remembered and did not regret it.  “Killing them was not the wrong thing to do..  However, a few years ago Kala could have killed Ra'kesh with a clean conscience, too.” He waved a hand dismissively, wanting to get off the topic.

 

“He is rambling.  All he is saying is, sometimes the “right” choice is not the moral one.  The opposite can be true as well.  But enough philosophy for today; Kala already knows all of this.” He stood again and moved towards the exit.  “Come.  Let's go upstairs.”

 

Kala shuddered and turned to follow him, rubbing her bruised hand on her hip.  In the end, he was right.  He often was, now.

 

_ A silly mage wastes gold on worst slave.  Must be powerful, powerful mage indeed, to not fear Ra'kesh slit throat in her sleep. _

 

Well, she had shown good judgment once.  Not in buying a slave to begin with, but in the slave she had chosen.  She had to cling to that thought.

 

It was a long walk back up to where the bodies had lain.  Kala's legs protested unexpectedly, and she had to lean on the railings to climb the stairs.  It seemed to go on and up almost forever.

 

All of those that had lain inside Drakan-Ka were gone, even the detached top of the Argonian's head.

 

Ra'kesh was quite disappointed to see that all of the bodies in the interior had been cleaned up.  He was hoping the spiders would have left them for a while, mainly because the walk to the top was obnoxiously long.

 

After several short breaks they finally reached the entrance chamber.  The two elves were lying just outside the door where Ra'kesh had left them.  It was almost noon already, to his surprise.   The rent shoulder glistened in the light.  In the plain light of day the Altmer's mutilated body was almost shocking, even though he was the one who had done it.

 

The bodies were both white from blood loss.  The Altmer's watery eyes stared at Ra'kesh from beneath half-closed lids.  The jaw was slack.

 

_ He looks like a drunk _ , Ra'kesh thought.   _ Minus all the blood _ .  He grabbed the elf by the legs and hauled him off the Bosmer.  It would be hard to carry this one because his shoulder was nearly detached from the rest of him.  While it might be interesting to see how the Engine would repair that damage, he didn't fancy the trouble of holding onto the body as it flopped about and dripped fluids all over the place.  The Bosmer was an easier choice.

 

“Grab his feet,” Ra'kesh said, grabbing the stiff elf by the armpits and hoisting him into a sitting position.  The Bosmer's clothes were caked in dried blood from his companion.

 

Kala stood gasping outside the door for a moment, smothering the sound with one hand.  A little walk up some stairs should not discompose her this much.  She'd been walking up and down the steep streets of Balmora almost every day for years.

 

She shook her head and went to grab the Bosmer's feet, not looking at the Altmer.  Knowing he was dead did not help.  In her mind's eye he was still alive, still a voice in her ear.  In fact, for an instant she was sure she saw him standing up from the corner of her eye; she twitched, and almost dropped the Bosmer on her way through the door.  She braced her elbow against the sill to get her balance.

 

“Sorry, I've got it.”

 

Walking downhill was easier than walking uphill, she told herself.  He stank, but she supposed if Ra'kesh could stand it, she could.

 

He slowed his pace, seeing that Kala was having difficulty.

 

“Did Kala even sleep last night?” he asked, holding his head high so the death-stench wouldn't go in his mouth.

 

“No,” she said.  “I wasn't tired.” It seemed a very long time since the old mine and the clannfear.

 

The body was actually not too heavy, probably from losing blood, and the stiffness made it easier to carry as well.  Almost like holding a plank.  But it wore on his muscles after a while.  They had to take several breaks going down as well.

 

Kala did not argue with the breaks.  Her arms were shaking long before the made it to the Engine.  She knelt on one knee beside the body for a moment, breathing hard.  

 

When they reached the Engine and had laid the body gently on the floor in front of it, Ra'kesh padded over to his pack and dug out the length of rope he remembered Kala had packed.

 

“We should tie his hands and legs, just to be safe,” he said, kneeling by the body and flipping it over.  A black dread roiled in his guts, thinking of what they were about to do to this man.  The limbs were stiff and protested against Ra'kesh's pulling.  There was a sickening snap when he yanked the arms back.   Kala helped Ra'kesh move the corpse to tie it without argument, though she squinted at the noise _. _

 

_ Gods forgive Ra'kesh for this trespass, _ Ra’kesh prayed silently, tying the dead mer's hands and then his feet.  It was something like being hog-tied, although the legs still stuck out straight.  He didn't care to bend them.

 

“Oh, so that's what that's like.  My father used to talk – you know what, it doesn't matter.” She went to push the door of the machine up, then came back to help Ra'kesh hoist him into the main chamber.  She resisted the urge to make more notes.  Whether it worked or not, this one was not going into the record.   _ Trial 13, a dead Bosmer… _

 

“All right.  This switch means  _ Living,  _ that's what the writing is,” she said as she flicked it upward.  “And this is the  _ Activate _ lever.  The  _ unliving  _ one is for broken inanimate objects, clothes, glass, anything like that.  Stand back.  If I have to poison him I don't want to hit you this time.”

 

Ra'kesh obeyed, but he readied the axe in any case.

 

He'd still been groggy and hungover when the scrib was revived.  It was such a bizarre thing that he wasn't sure he trusted the memory now.  He looked at the body inside the chamber with a mixture of curiosity and fear but set his expression hard for Kala's sake.  His skin prickled; the fur of his spine was standing on end.

 

“This one is ready,” he said.

 

"I mean it, Ra'kesh," she said softly.  "If one of us must commit that sin, it is mine to commit."

 

She threw the lever.

 

Inside the chamber, beams of crimson light darted out to enfold the form of the Bosmer, covering flesh and clothes in rapidly moving tracings of red.  The dried blood puffed away into dust and vanished; the wounds in his throat and chest stitched up shut and then smoothed away as though they had never been there.

 

For a moment he lay quiescent, still pale and dead.  Rays of blue appeared, tracing his torn clothing, and it became whole again.  Kala stood with one hand pressed to the glass, eyes wide enough to show white around the irises as she watched.

 

Then, finally, a ray of crimson darted out to touch his chest once.  Color bloomed in his cheeks and hands as he gasped in air, lips parted.

 

Ra'kesh stared in slack-jawed amazement as the body was mended.  He almost dropped the weapon in his hand.

 

After a moment the Bosmer's eyes snapped open.  He jerked in confusion before realizing his hands were bound.  His eyes widened in panic and he let out a muffled yell.  Ra'kesh wasn't sure the mer recognized them; it had been so dark last night, he might not even know who had killed him.

 

“Er, will you talk to him? See what he remembers?” Ra'kesh asked, stepping forward despite Kala's command to stay back.

 

“Yes.  We have to know it's the same mer or it's all pointless.” She pushed the door upward, staying back out of reach of a kick.  “Do you remember either of us, or what's the last thing you do remember?”

 

The Bosmer narrowed his eyes and stopped moving.

 

“I remember you.  You're the Orc bitch who was wandering around outside.  How the hell did you-” he froze and the color suddenly drained from his face.  He started yanking his hands against the bonds, frantically trying to free himself.

 

“Bosmer should settle down,” Ra'kesh growled, taking another step forward with the axe raised.  This got his attention.  He stopped pulling at the rope, but he stared at Ra'kesh in horror.  Perspiration trickled down his forehead.

 

“You...  You slashed my throat...  Why did you heal me? What do you freaks want!? You can have everything, I don't want it.  I don't know anything! Just let me go and we'll call it even, all right?” His voice was hysterical now.  His beady black eyes darted back and forth between Kala and Ra'kesh, beseeching each of them to grant him mercy.

 

Kala raised a hand, fingers gathered into a fist, and then stopped.  Venom revolved inside, but she held it back.  She had technically killed people.  None of them had been looking her in the eyes at the time.  Now she was facing the fact of ending another life and not looking away from that, not diverting the violence of it with distance, with tools, with Ra'kesh's hand because hers had always been too slow.  Now she was facing the reality that if she let the poison go she would watch another sentient being writhe and die and be gone, and it would be all hers, forever.

 

“I can't,” she said.  “I can't do that to him.”

 

Ra'kesh stepped forward and closed the door.  This sent the Bosmer into another hysterical fit, but his yells were muffled and inconsequential for now.  Ra'kesh turned away slightly, making sure to keep one eye on the prisoner.  He leant over and spoke quietly into Kala's ear.

 

“He thinks that we healed him.  He does not know what this thing is.  It would probably cause no harm to release him.”

 

Ra'kesh could have killed the man without flinching, but that didn't mean he liked to do it.

 

Warm air puffed onto her ear, a real and lifelike and concrete thing.  Kala breathed deeply, and nodded.  Then her eyes narrowed to hard slits as she turned to open the door up again.  He would have to have a good explanation for why he was alive, something to stick with him through any irritating doubts about what he was doing inside the machine.  She had been raised to believe lying was wrong.  For some reason that did not cause her the slightest qualm right now.

 

“All right, shut up and listen,” she snapped at him.  “And stop mewling like a sick kitten.  You're alive, which is more than I can say for any single one of that pack of worthless murdering s'wits you were with.  If you want to stay that way you'll tell me what I want to know, or I will shut the door to this storage cylinder and leave you to slowly suffocate.  It is not a pleasant way to die.  It is much worse than having your throat cut and then being healed while unconscious.  Do you follow me?”

 

Ra'kesh looked at Kala like she had grown two heads.  He quickly caught up with her act and turned a menacing scowl to the Bosmer.

 

The mer stopped his shouting immediately and shrank back from the angry Orc as best he could given his circumstances.

 

“But there's nothing to tell, lady, I swear! We just wanted to make some gold off the artifacts.  Deegah had some connection to a buyer; he's the one that organized it all.  I didn't even know most the other guys.  Any beef you had with them has nothing to do with me, I swear it!” His entire body trembled.  He looked like he might cry at any moment.

 

Kala swallowed a pang of self-hatred.  She had spent a life of hard work not to be what she was now desperately attempting to imitate.  She didn't want to kill the man – badly, badly – and this was still a better alternative than that.

 

“The stuff up in the entry room,” she said.  “And don't lie.  I can tell when a fetcher is lying.  - Was that all you found?”

 

He hesitated for a moment, but evidently came to the conclusion that his life was worth more than money.

 

“N..  No.  It's not.  There's some more crates outside, hidden behind a big piece of metal coming out of the ground.  It's just west of the tower.  But we had just arrived not long ago, and weren't done clearing the place out.” He shut up after that, and Ra'kesh was glad.  He was tired of the babbling.

 

He closed the door again and turned away so the Bosmer couldn't see him smile at Kala, one ear cocked to the side.

 

“They call her Kala Iron-Tooth, meanest smuggler in Vvardenfell.  What d'ya say boss, is he telling the truth?” He raised his axe and let the hilt slap down into his palm.  It was the most thuggish gesture he could think of.

 

“Hkk.” She turned away from the thing as well, so the Bosmer wouldn't see her trying not to laugh, lips quivering around her tusks.  “Gods, I hope so.  I'm just about done with this.  If we just untie him do you think he'll try to ambush us on our way up? We can Recall out from anywhere in here, but that would be without the loot.”

 

More than anything, at this moment she wanted to go back to her snug little house in Balmora and let this place and its god-machine rot.  She planned to tear out the pages she'd written on it and set fire to them the second it was conveniently possible.  But Ra'kesh had wanted their smuggled things, and she had lost all moral right to object to that.  And, for that matter, she had no coin to pay him.

 

“Well, Ra'kesh was going to suggest tying a bag over his head, walking him out of sight of the ruin, then shoving him in the direction of civilization.  A bit mean, but it should scare him enough to never come back.” The idea of walking him out to the path and then coming all the way back was tiring to Ra'kesh.  He wasn't very scared, though.  If the Bosmer knew any destruction magic he would have used that instead of his bow just before Ra'kesh killed him.  Being defenseless, he probably wouldn't try anything funny.  Probably.

 

“I'm willing to settle for mean,” she said.  “If I give you an alchemy bag, do you mind doing that and untying his feet while I pack up everything? He won't know we're carrying packs with a bag on, and then we don't have to come back down here.  It is my sincere hope never to see this room again.”

 

As she spoke she headed for the table to get an ingredients bag and empty the now-dried racer plumes from it into the bag that contained the kresh fibers.  Her every fiber quailed at the idea of going up all those stairs again, but a couple of potions should get her through it creditably.  She downed a strength fortifier and a fatigue restorer one-handed as she held out the bag to Ra'kesh.

 

Ra'kesh hadn't expected that sort of response from her.  Now that they knew the machine really could bring sentient creatures back to life with their souls and memories apparently intact, he would think that she'd want to reverse engineer it.  Or at least tell someone about it.

 

But maybe it was for the best.

 

He accepted the bag and went over to their new friend, who squirmed fearfully when Ra'kesh opened the door and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward.

 

“Listen well, friend,” the Khajiit growled, flashing his fangs.  He thrust one sharp claw under the Bosmer's chin, who held perfectly still to avoid being cut a second time.  “Boss decided to let you live only so Bosmer can tell Deegah's buddies they had better not mess with Iron-Tooth gang again.  This is our territory, got it?” He gave the elf's neck another tug for good measure.

 

“Yes, yes, I got it!” he squealed.  Ra'kesh hauled him out of the tank onto the floor and pulled the bag over his head.  He was smart enough to keep quiet and let Ra'kesh work.

 

The elf would remember this day as one of the worst in his life, utterly unaware of how lucky he actually was.


	13. Chapter 13

The climb back to the entrance passed in an unremembered blur.  She was sure that she snarled at the Bosmer to keep moving at one or two points purely in order to cover the sound of her stumbling, or the scrape of her hand on the wall.  When they finally un-hooded him and pushed him out the front door – past the corpse of the Altmer, which wasn't getting any prettier without its eyes; the rats had not been kind – she watched him well out of sight into the fog, breathing with an effort.

 

She had lost weight since she had bought Ra'kesh.  At first there had been a terrifyingly skinny Khajiit following her around staring angrily, and then they had been charging from threat to threat and generally exerting themselves more than was typical for her.  Her robe felt looser, and a glimpse of her own face in the dull reflection of the Dwemer ruin's door showed that her collarbones and the veins in her throat were more prominent than before.  She wasn't sure what had happened to her eyes.  She didn't remember them being that baggy and dark around the edges.

 

“All right,” she said at last.  “Shall we look for the stash?”

 

Ra'kesh was panting by the time the prisoner was released.  After three trips up and down those many flights of stairs he never wanted to look at another staircase for the rest of his life.

 

“Yes.  It would appear fishy if he returned and found the artifacts untouched,” Ra'kesh agreed.  He could already see a twisted wall of metal surrounded by kreshweed the Bosmer had probably meant; they'd walked right by it on their way in.  “Let's roll this barrel over to it and recall from there.”

 

He propped open the door, and with Kala's help, they turned the steel keg onto its side and rolled it across the grounds.  They made sure to close the door behind them and left the Altmer where he lay as a warning to others.

 

Behind the metal slab, poking out from the kreshweed, was a simple wooden hand cart.  The crate it carried was in much better condition than anything inside Drakan-Ka.  With much straining he hauled the crate down.  Something heavy clanked inside.

 

Ra'kesh plopped himself on the crate to catch his breath.  Right now he didn't care if the crate was full of rocks, he just wanted this ordeal to be over.

 

Kala gave the Altmer a long parting look as they moved out of sight behind the slab.  He still seemed to linger in her peripheral vision, standing with his jaw hanging and eyeless sockets following her movement.  She was sure that wasn't right, but could not concentrate on why.

 

“Balmora?” she said, holding out a hand to Ra'kesh as she rested the other on the barrel.  It should bring the crate if he was physically in contact with it; the spell would drain more of her power to move the greater mass, but it would move.

 

“Get Ra'kesh out of here,” he said with a tired grin, clasping her hand firmly.

 

It took her three tries to cast a spell she had not failed in five years of using it.  The first two fizzled, puffs of pink magicka dissolving around her fingers.  When they finally materialized back in the main room in the house in Balmora she was beginning to feel a hard knot of panic forming in her gut.  To have the warmth of the South rush in around her was a desperate relief and comfort.

 

The ruins dissolved in a flash of light.  The cozy little home that Ra’kesh had never expected to return to faded into view.  The first time he recalled here, it had been a strange room full of unfamiliar smells.  This time it was comforting.

 

His bracers and their key now lay thousands of miles to the North, where he would never see them again.

 

Kala exhaled with a shudder, letting go of Ra'kesh's hand, and went to drop her pack in the corner.  Then she dug out her experiment log and went to the kitchen to find a sharp knife.  She laid it on the countertop next to the book.

 

Kala tried without success to light the oven, little sparks crackling around her fingers.  Finally she got out the flint and tinder and used that.

 

Ra'kesh watched Kala with curiosity from one eye while he put away his pack beside hers, the satchel still on his shoulder.  He moved briskly to the kitchen area when he realized what she was doing.

 

“Wait!” he said, putting his palm over the journal.  “This is about the Engine, is it not? Perhaps you should sleep on it before making this decision.”

 

Kala stopped, setting down the flint as she turned to look at him.  The Altmer twitched in and out of her vision, grinning horribly.  Her eyes moved to follow him past Ra'kesh's shoulder.

 

“I'm not tired,” she said.  “I'll just cut out the pages that refer to the Engine specifically.  I'll keep the translations.  The monogram should at least make the trip worth it academically.  Why don't you open the crate and see what's in it?”

 

Her hand jerked as it rested on the cutting table, thumb tapping the surface twice before she moved it away.  Her muscles were full of poison, sore and aching.  She would go and change her clothes and sit down when she had finished with the journal.  She needed to brew a few more fatigue restoratives.  There was probably still some dried saltrice in her jars.

 

His brows drew together in concern as he watched her glazed, unfocused eyes look past him.  He reluctantly withdrew his hand and stepped away.

 

“Even if she does not show anyone the pages, it seems foolish to destroy them...” He trailed off weakly.  He knew that it was none of his business what she did.  He sighed and returned to the crate.

 

“Perhaps it is.” She looked down at the book thoughtfully.  She could always cut the relevant section out, fold it up, and put it away.  She had spent a long time on those sketches and writings.  She reached for the knife and began very carefully slicing out the pages on the Engine.  She cut as close to the binding as possible so that the missing pages would not be obvious, and with her hand braced well away from it.  It would not do to cut herself and stain the book.  There was already that one ink smear.

 

The problem of the notes was forgotten for the moment.  Ra'kesh kneeled in front of their plundered goods, grinning like a child opening a present.  He lifted the lid in slow motion, savoring the anticipation, but groaned when he saw the machine parts inside.  He pulled them out onto the floor to reach the bottom of the crate while grumbling to himself.  A heavy cog hid a gem at the bottom: a shortsword still in its coppery scabbard, which was embossed with the image of a bearded Dwemer warrior and other angular, abstract designs.  A handful of diamonds lay beside it.

 

“Thank Rajhin! Something good came of this after all!” He scooped the diamonds in his palms to show Kala.

 

She listened to the creak and rattle of the create being opened, then glanced up as Ra'kesh spoke.  She blinked at the diamonds.

 

“...Oh my...” And then her eyes traveled to the machined parts he had carelessly laid aside.  “They found an intact calcinator?? Those are nearly priceless!” No wonder he had acted as if the crate was heavy as the weight of guilt; the calcinator alone probably weighed thirty pounds.  She recognized a pair of tubes intended for turbine part replacement and what appeared to be a replacement drive shaft as well.  “I can't… I don't even know where we would sell something like that.”

 

She turned to put the flint and tinder away.  The folded pages would be safe enough at the bottom of her closet.  Gods knew no one would be looking for those with thousands of drakes' worth of contraband artifacts in her house.  She was grateful no one could see through the windows.

 

"Well, we have to now, I can't just keep them in my HOUSE.  Do you know what the Imperium would do to me if they were found in here? I don't want to spend my next ten years at hard labor."

 

Kala gesticulated as she folded the cut pages and took them to shove into an empty alchemy jar labeled "nirthfly." She screwed the lid on tightly, edging around to put her back to the wall so the Altmer couldn't sneak up on her.  He was over by the door now, capering behind Ra'kesh with his corpse grin.

 

"I'm not even sure how to safely get them out of here.  The neighbors will notice if I haul away a wheelbarrow - oh yes, of course.  Have the diamonds, too.  It's less than your share, but maybe we can work out something if we ever find a buyer.  Doesn't that bother you?"

 

She was looking past him at the dead mer again, one hand resting on the alchemy table.

 

“ALL of the diamonds?” His eyes bugged.  Then he shrugged and scooped them into his bag.

 

“This one cannot say it bothers him to be given free diamonds, but he does not want to be unfair.  Also, he seriously doubts anyone would be snooping around, let alone care that you have a few things of Dwemer make.  Many mages do.”

 

Kala was staring over his shoulder.  He glanced behind himself but saw nothing of interest.  He gave her a funny look.

 

“Friend Kala is looking very pale,” he said carefully.

 

“They're worth about the same as the rest, unless I can find a buyer for the calcinator.  You really aren't bothered by the dead Altmer? He just won't go away no matter what I do.” She squinted as the elf blinked out and reappeared in the corner, sneering at her.  Her eyes felt as though they had been boiled dry in oil, but she had felt that way for some time now.

 

Ra'kesh was just about to suggest she get some sleep when her words sunk in.  His head snapped to the direction she was currently looking, but of course, nothing was there.

 

“What dead Altmer? Is she seeing things?” He moved over to her and touched a gentle hand to her elbow, urging her to walk forward.  “No one is there.  Come upstairs and go to bed.” His ears cocked to the side in deep confusion and concern.

 

“Are you sure?” At Ra'kesh's insistence the elf wavered, then blinked out.  “He was right there.  It was that same Altmer and of course I'm not tired, don't be silly.” She let him nudge her without really being aware of the direction.  He was doing something with his ears that she had never seen.  Kala looked up at them curiously.  “Anyway, I can't go to sleep.  He'll find me.”

 

Ra'kesh frowned, pushing her towards the stairs.

 

“Listen to your words, Kala.  The elf is dead.  We saw him die, how can he be here?” At first he'd thought this was a case of fatigue, but other nefarious explanations now filled his mind.  Was there some side effect from the machine that made her go crazy? Had the Gods cursed her for ripping a soul from their domain? He forced a mask of impassivity over his face for her sake but his heart was pounding now.

 

“Ra'kesh will watch over you.  He promises all will be safe.” He tried to sound reassuring.

 

“I trust you,” she said slowly, letting herself be nudged up the stairs.  They were short compared to the ones in Drakan-Ka, that was a mercy at least.  It would be so nice to lie down and just let it all fade, go away from the pain in her eyes and her head and her arms and her legs.  He had been there the last time she had slept and everything had been safe.

 

“Anyway, you killed him the first time.  You could probably do it again, right?”

 

“Er, yes, of course,” he agreed, pushing open her bedroom door and leading her inside.  “Ra'kesh even has a shiny new sword to use.” He left out the part about it being too heavy for him to lift easily.

 

He pulled back the coverlet and turned for the door, hoping she could handle things from here.

 

“He will be just outside, all right?” he asked, hand on the door frame.

 

Kala nodded as she went and sat on the edge of the bed.  "All right.  Thank you." She looked around the room.  It was familiar and comfortable, wood and cloth rather than the oppressive, constant metal; the sound of the distant river rather than the hum of alien machinery.  And it smelled clean and airy, not filled with the choking stink of dust and corrosion.

 

As she filled her lungs slowly, nostrils flaring, she felt everything start to unbind.  She let it happen this time, pushing off her shoes awkwardly with her feet, and just lay over on her side on the bed.  She managed to pull her legs up with an effort.  She felt so heavy, heavy enough to sink down through the floor and into the earth.  Balmora was warm.  Dagon Fel had been cold.

 

"Ra'kesh," she murmured, shutting her eyes.  "Try and eat something, all right...?"

 

She knew nothing else for a very long time.  She did not dream.

 

She had fallen asleep before he even left the room.  He jerked awkwardly in her direction, stopped, thought about it for a moment, and then came back to the bed.  He pulled the covers over her even though she was still in her robe.

 

He studied her sleeping face for a moment, tail slowly flicking behind him.  She would probably be fine after a day of rest.  He raised his hand to brush aside a stray lock of hair that had worked itself out of her braid and fallen across her face, but hesitated and dropped his hand back at his side instead.

 

Ra'kesh left her door open a crack when he left, just in case she called for him.  He then carried his bag full of mazte, diamonds, and lockpicks to the room at the end of the hall, flopping it on top of the dresser.  A few days ago, he'd considered this “his” room.  He no longer had any formal association to Kala and no good reason to be hanging around in her house.  But he would stay at least until she woke up and proved fully sane.

 

He went downstairs and fed himself from the supplies in their bags, then put away the leftovers in the cupboards.  He checked the steel keg; there were several bowls, goblets, plates, and utensils, enough for a small army to eat from.  He picked out a full set from the specimens in the best condition, washed them, and put them away in the cupboards as well.  She may not like “idiot Dunmer” eating their scrib jelly on the priceless Dwarven dinnerware, but Kala deserved to have something nice for herself.

 

The wooden crate was taking up a large space in the room.  He finished emptying it and carried the crate outside, dropping it next to the other already there.  Kala could decide what to do with it later.

 

He closed the door behind him and stood on the stoop for a while.  A light wind tousled his mane.  He turned his face to it, breathing deeply.  It was a few hours before sunset now and the street was busy with children playing and adults arriving home from their work, or just setting out for a night of merry making.  He even smiled and nodded at a few who acknowledged him with curious, but polite, greetings.

 

The South Wall Cornerclub was just two streets away.  He could go there now, there was nothing to stop him -

 

_ No, Kala might wake up and be afraid, _ he told himself.  He retreated inside to curb the temptation.

 

Ra'kesh carried his new sword upstairs and peeked into the Orc's room again.  She was still sleeping peacefully so he went back to the guest room, intending to get some sleep himself.  It had been a stressful day.  He stripped off his belt and laid all the weapons on the dresser by his bag, but didn't undress.

 

The bed was soft and inviting when he slipped under the covers.  Even so, images of carrying a cold, blood-crusted body down flights of stairs, the Bosmer's terrified pleading, and the weight of his axe sinking into the Altmer's shoulder all played in his mind over and over.  He ached for skooma to drown it out.

 

Ra'kesh turned fitfully for a while, but eventually exhaustion won out and he was asleep.

 

Kala slept for something like twelve hours without moving or changing position.  In the thirteenth hour she rolled over and discovered she was covered in a blanket.  Then she went back to sleep.  It was late morning some twenty hours after their return that she really woke up, eyes crusted over, desperately thirsty.  She sat up with a gasp as memory asserted itself, but there was no dead elf in her room.  There never had been.

 

_ It wasn't real.   _ She had heard from other students in her apprenticeship that it was possible to see things if you went without sleep for long enough, but it had never happened to her.  She had never wanted to avoid dreaming as badly as that.  She still shuddered when she thought about the way the Charm had made her feel.

 

It occurred to her that Ra'kesh was probably gone, and her stomach sank at the thought.  He must have put the blanket over her.  That was sweet of him, but he was a free man now.  It was right that he should go his own way.  She dreaded the thought of what he might do to himself with that much money, but perhaps it had been long enough for him to find something else to do or want.  She could hope.

 

She got up – she was stiff, but not in pain as she had been when she lay down – and made the bed.  Then she went to the door and looked to see if the guest room door was open or shut.

 

Ra'kesh had woken in the dark an hour before sunrise, feeling refreshed.  A quick check on Kala told him that she was fine.  If she hadn't woken up screaming by now, that probably wasn't going to happen.  He decided to take a walk around the block.  Not unexpectedly, his feet had carried him to a squat little building two streets away.  A ratty flag bearing that universal emblem waved at him invitingly.

 

The South Wall Cornerclub was unnaturally silent but the air stunk of stale booze and unwashed bodies.  He knew immediately that he was in the right place and followed the narrow corridor, lit by a single red lantern, downstairs to the bar.

 

The entertainment had packed up their instruments and left hours ago, along with the decent folk who had lives to live come morning.  The few remaining drunkards nursed their bottles in silence or lay slumped against tables.  The publican eyed Ra'kesh dully from past a crooked beak that had been broken more than once.

 

Ra'kesh made a beeline for the man and casually leaned a forearm against the bar.  He stacked ten pieces of gold on the counter, then pushed it forward with one finger.

 

“Good evening, sera.  Khajiit is looking to buy sweet nectar,” he said conversationally.  The human snorted but clamped a hand over the gold.

 

“You're a bit early for that, Khajiit.  Come back tonight and have a chat with the wood elf there.” He nodded towards an empty table in the corner across the room.  Ra'kesh followed his gaze, teeth clenched.  If only he had come earlier.  He thanked the man as politely as he could manage.

 

Ra'kesh pushed himself away from the bar and turned to leave.  Just as he stepped through the open doorway a trembling hand grabbed his wrist from behind.  His head jerked down to the ragged figure wrapped in brown on the floor.  She'd been sitting by the doorway, back against the wall, so Ra'kesh hadn't noticed her when he first entered.  She was a Khajiit of gray tabby pelt but her fur was so dull and faded that her stripes were hard to make out in the low light of the room.  Her gaunt face made her round eyes seem even bigger as they stared at him in desperation.  Her ears quivered as she spoke.

 

“Twenty gold for Aznarra, but for fellow Khajiit, she only charge fifteen!” When her mouth opened a smell of rot hit Ra'kesh even from that distance.  She was missing several teeth.  He easily shook her hand loose from its weak grasp and fled up the corridor without looking back.

 

He walked dejectedly back to Kala's house, ears slumped and hands thrust into his pockets.  The weight of the gold swayed against his hip.  Tonight was an eternity away, but he had to bear it.  The gray sky above signaled that Magnus would peak over the horizon soon.

 

Ra'kesh closed the front door gently behind him.  The room was still dark, so she must not be up yet.  He hoped that she wouldn't be too upset that he'd unlocked the door last night.

 

He was probably overstaying his welcome, but he had nowhere else to go.  He sat silently at the table and watched the glass in the window fade from black to emerald green, flooding the room with light.  He thought of the toothless woman and her begging eyes.  She would spend the day without skooma as well, but she would face an agony Ra'kesh would not.  He slumped over on the table, burying his head beneath crossed arms and waiting for Kala to come downstairs and kick him out.  Somehow, he fell asleep.

 

The guest room door was open, and no one was inside.

 

_ Well, that's that.   _ She tried not to feel disappointed.  What did she really expect from him? Things had gone incredibly well that he had stayed with her so long.  Even if one ignored the difference in species – and she was trying very hard not to do that because of course an Orc should not be thinking of soft fur – she came from a different world than his.  He constantly had to correct or explain things when they ran into anything remotely dangerous.  If he ever did choose a woman it would probably be some sharp-toothed thief who could jump her own height.  It actually made her feel a little better, imagining their piratical adventures on the Inner Sea.  Maybe they would have six tiny, clever kittens and teach them to pick locks together.

 

Kala had a brisk wash-up, changed her clothes – nice, very nice to put on the blue linens that hadn't been hand-washed twice without soap - and brushed her hair.  She didn't feel like braiding it.  She let it hang down her back just for today, to dry in the warm air, and put on a gray robe from her closet and some soft shoes.  It was nice to be out of the boots, too.  Her feet had blistered and healed and blistered again without her noticing over the course of that last day or so in Drakan-Ka.  She spent the energy to heal herself at the top of the stairs, soft light diffusing around her and soothing some of the aches away, and felt better as she started down.

 

Ra'kesh was sitting at the cutting table with his head on his arms, tail hanging limp.  She stopped dead for a second, heart in her throat, but he was breathing; and as she came closer there was no chemical stink.

 

Well, at least she wasn't going to be stupid enough to grab him by the shoulder from behind.  That thought still made her shiver, and probably would for weeks.  She edged around to one side, where she would be in his line of sight, and reached out to gently touch his wrist.

 

“Ra'kesh? Are you all right?”

 

The Khajiit jerked awake, blinking up at Kala in confusion.  He quickly remembered where he was.

 

“What was that? Yes, he must have fallen asleep.” Ra'kesh leaned back in the chair, two legs off the ground, stretching his stiff arms over his head.  His shoulder popped satisfyingly.  The chair clunked against the floor when he was done.

 

“Well...  This one supposes he will get out of Kala's hair now, if she is feeling better from rest,” he said awkwardly, pushing himself to his feet.  He found it difficult to look her in the eye.

 

Kala exhaled, relieved.  Then she cleared her throat when he had spoken.   _ Get out of Kala's hair  _ did not sound like  _ I badly want to be out of here right now.   _ It sounded like he had probably slept down here because he felt bad about using the guest room.  Or maybe something had happened while she was sleeping.  He was doing that thing where he looked away and one ear sort of twitched, like he was trying not to let it go flat.

 

“About that,” she said.  “Of course you can do what you like.” She went to look into the food cupboard.  It was empty.  “But I'm going to have to find a buyer for that calcinator, and it would be nice to have a trustworthy bodyguard along if I have to go meet a fence carrying something that valuable.  We could discuss rates, if you're interested.  I'm not going to be unreasonable about it.  And erm… I could go with you to Nalcarya's, if you would like to sell her your diamonds.  She knows me.  You might get a slightly better deal.” She looked in another cupboard.  It was bare, too.

 

“...After we've had some pemmican and dried fruit for breakfast.  I'm out of everything and I don't have drakes...”

 

Ra'kesh's face lit up when she spoke, his ears standing straight.  He walked briskly to the cupboards and opened the one he'd loaded their leftover supplies into.

 

“Ra'kesh did not know for sure which one was the food cupboard,” he explained.  “And...  yes, that would be agreeable.  He has nowhere to go, honestly.  He could perhaps stay and provide this service in exchange for lodgings.” He pulled out two Dwemer plates and began dividing meat and fruit among them.  He moved briskly as if afraid she might change her mind if they lingered on the topic for too long.  He handed her a plate with a smirk.

 

“After selling the diamonds we will eat like kings.  Ra'kesh has shopping to do as well.” He carried his own plate to the table and sat down happily.

 

Kala couldn't stop herself from smiling when the ears went up.

 

“That sounds fair,” she said.  “Bed, board and a half-share if we run into any more bandits.” She pulled the thong out of her pocket and used it to tie her hair back in a loose tail as she bustled around next to him pouring them each a glass of water.

 

“Not that I intend for that to happen.  Presently I plan to sell off my ill-gotten gains, buy spells, and write my translation monogram.  Dorisa might ask why it's shorter than I implied before, but I guess I'll have to tell her I didn't find as much material as I expected.”

 

_ If I sleep every other day or so I should be able to avoid any more hallucinations.   _ The important thing was to calculate it just right so that she didn't make Ra'kesh think she was insane and also didn't dream.  She could probably harvest more saltrice in the afternoon for fatigue restoratives.

 

She accepted the plate cheerily and went to drag the chair from the alchemy bench over to the table so she could talk to him while they ate.  Then she stared at it for a moment, recognizing the pattern, and looked up at the one he was using.  Color rose into her face.

 

“You sneaky Khajiit! Thank you.” She poked him in the arm companionably and started eating.  She was starving, the first time she'd felt really hungry in days.

 

“He was a bit worried you would object to eating off them.  But they survived a thousand years already.  They will probably hold up well.” He ate slowly, enjoying the meal and the companionship even though he'd had pemmican for several meals in a row now.  Thinking of the fresh meat and fish he would buy after cashing in those diamonds made his mouth water.

 

“I would have last week, I think.  It just seems less important now.” She tried not to look too closely at the pemmican or the berries.  She had been aggressively avoiding thinking about the machine since she had awakened.  “Although it won't hurt my feelings if you change your mind later, given these are worth multiples of the ones I was using before.”

 

“Ra'kesh was thinking he should try to find work in Balmora.  Honest work, he means,” Ra'kesh said tentatively, glancing up from his food for Kala's reaction.  While he had never admitted his criminal activities outright, it was obvious enough that there was no reason to hide it from her.  “Friend Kala does him a great kindness offering work, but both must know she cannot afford to support oafish Khajiit forever.”

 

She listened to him, chewing.

 

“That's a laudable goal.  Before you start looking, though, I need to ask you a hard question.  Please try not to be angry.”

 

He turned back one ear, regarding her with curiosity.

 

“He will not be angry,” he said casually, although there was a sinking feeling in his gut.


	14. Chapter 14

"A lot of Khajiit try skooma or moon sugar for religious reasons,” Kala said.  “Not all of them end up addicts and get sold into slavery.  What made it go that badly for you? Was it because of what happened to your family?"

 

Ra'kesh snorted.  He was expecting something more to the tune of, “You're going to go buy more skooma, aren't you?”

 

“No, he could blame all of that on childhood trauma...  but no.  That was a lifetime ago.” He shrugged, unperturbed, and picked at his food with one claw.  “On a ship there is little to do other than drink in one's free time, so Ra'kesh was already in the habit of not being sober.  A few years ago he met a man, and did some work for this man.  He was a skooma seller who often paid Ra'kesh with skooma.  Somewhere along the way it stopped being a fun time and started being a need.  He did not notice the transition.”

 

His expression darkened, remembering the Khajiit from the Cornerclub.

 

“It goes badly for anyone who tries skooma, not just Ra'kesh.”

 

Kala nodded carefully as she listened.  She wasn't going to argue with him.  Her only exposure to skooma addiction before she bought him had been Zharra, and there was nothing about that entire sad story that disagreed with what he said.

 

“So boredom was at least part of it,” she said.  “Does that sound right?”

 

It would certainly explain how well he'd done the entire time they were traveling, constantly wary, constantly attacked.  They had generally not been bored.

 

“Yes, he supposes so,” he agreed.  He had no direction, no friends or family who relied on him.  It didn't matter where he went or what he did.  There was nothing to do other than get himself shitfaced.  He tilted his head to the side.

 

“Why does Kala ask this?”

 

“Well, if you get a legitimate job and it bores you to tears, it seems to me that it'll be harder for you not to be tempted.  I know this isn't really my business, but you've saved my life a few times now and I care what happens to you.” Color rose in her face again as she got up to take her dirty plate to the sink.  “Maybe you should think about bodyguarding as a job.  I could give you a good reference if you wanted to look about among the Hlaalu.  You would need to invest some of your new money on a fancier outfit, probably, but you could easily make it back.”

 

His ears twitched.  Ra'kesh looked away quickly while she got up.

 

What was this peculiar warmth spreading through his body?

 

“Well, actually, he was thinking of applying to the Fighter's Guild.  Ra'kesh is not sure he could so easily put his life on the line for some random Dunmer.  If Kala were not herself, he might not have saved her.”

 

He scarfed the last bites from his plate just to be done and followed Kala to the sink.

 

“Then again, maybe this one should get out of the city.  Ra'kesh always seems to go back to his old ways when there is temptation.” He said this more to himself than to her.  He sighed and turned away after setting down the dish.

 

She darkened further.

 

“Well I.  Oh.  Thank you.  Ahem.  The guild is really not a bad idea either, you can work your way up, and there should be lots of variety in the work.”

 

But what he said about temptation made sense as well, of course.  There had been a real lack of skooma dealers out in the wilderness.  She wondered anew what had happened while she slept.  Had he tried to find one, and failed? She could only be glad if that were the case, but it was a disappointing thought.

 

He had added the diamonds to his bag of coins earlier in case the gold wasn't enough to cover the skooma.  He jangled the bag on his hip, the weight of the diamonds satisfying in his hand.

 

“Let's sell these diamonds for now.  Ra'kesh will worry about a job later.”

 

She was relieved when he brought up the diamonds.  “Yes! Diamonds! Absolutely.  Let's go.”

 

Kala hurried out the door and waited for him to follow before locking it again.  The spell succeeded on the first try.  That was another argument against her plans with reference to sleeping less in the future.  She remembered very clearly how panicked she had felt when it had taken three tries to Recall them home, and when her spell had failed in front of the clannfear because she was tired.  She couldn't be having that happen.

 

She turned to the left out of her front door this time, headed to the street that traveled uphill toward High Town.  She was glad she had put on the gray robe.  She did not want to be seen there in the crumpled robe she had worn for two days in Dagon Fel.  The street was broad and the cobbles were cleaner as they came closer, sweepers loitering in the alley mouths with push-brooms and buckets to remove evidence of the passing of pack-guars or other messes.

 

Walking through town as a free Khajiit was a very different experience from doing the same as a slave.  Ra’kesh felt none of the anxiety and shame that had always been there in the background during that first week.  He and Kala could now walk as equals, as friends.

 

_ Yes, _ he thought, watching her from the side.   _ She is a good friend.   _ With the color back in her face and the bags gone from under her eyes, he realized for the first time that she truly was a lovely person in more ways than one.  Perhaps it had taken a while for him to adjust to her Orcish features, or maybe he'd been too angry at the world to see beauty in anyone or anything.  He slid his eyes away before she could see him staring.

 

Kala did not notice the Khajiit looking at her.  She was busy composing herself.  Nalcarya was a very traditional Altmer, not impossible to deal with but always very formal in her manners.  It would not do to be visibly flustered.

 

Ra'kesh had never been all the way up the hill to High Town before.  The large manor houses of the Hlaalu elite rose around them.  He thought back to Kala's offer of getting him in touch with one of them to work as a bodyguard.

 

_ What a racket that would be.  They let Khajiit into home as a guard, meanwhile he clears out their coffers.   _ He smirked at the thought, but would not tarnish Kala's good name that way.  He was serious about going straight when he told her, although he didn't really believe in himself to follow through.  He could try.

 

Nalcarya's shop was situated at the apex of the hill.  He recognized it by the flag hanging outside: a jumble of strange symbols that had no meaning to him but that he knew represented alchemy.  He noticed a clothier next door and wondered if he would be able to afford any clothes from this part of town even with the coin he was about to make.

 

A cacophony of scents made Ra'kesh wrinkle his nose the moment they stepped inside.  It was worse even than Kala's lab, although he'd grown accustomed to that.  Shelves crammed with tall bottles lined every wall.  Most of the smells came from a short table in the corner where ingredients were neatly laid out in little piles of papers.  He recognized the equipment here as the same sort of things Kala had back home.

 

A bell tied to the top of the door chimed genteelly as they entered.  Nalcarya was bent over the cluttered corner table, using a tiny flat spoon to transfer void salts from a jar onto a paper.  A guard in full bonemold armor stood near the base of the stairs that led to the upper story, watching them silently.

 

“Just a moment,” she called in her high, fluting voice as the door shut behind them.  Then she set the spoon back into the jar, laid the stone lid over it, and turned to look them over, dusting off her long fingers.  Like Estirdalin, she wore her hair high in a traditional bun, and her robe was layered and ornate.  Kala had known both long enough to see the differences in their faces.  Nalcarya was older, for one.  High Elves usually did not start to develop the slightest fine lines around their eyes until well past the point when a human or Orc would have expired from old age, but the Altmer had definite crow's feet.

 

“Now, what can I do for you? Oh, Ser gra-Nend, how do you do? It has been some time.” She bowed, one hand pressed to her sternum.  “And the gentleman, of course.”

 

“Indeed it has.” Kala bowed back somewhat less gracefully.  “This is my friend Ra'kesh.  He has some diamonds to sell, if you are interested.”

 

“Oh, rather.  I've lost half a dozen this week out of the strongbox.  I cannot prove it was Sugar-Lips or any one of her little friends, but I suspect it.  One of these days I will catch them at it and freeze them solid, I tell you.” Her tone was mild.  She turned to look Ra'kesh over curiously, pale green eyes sharp.  “All right, Serjo.  What do you have?”

 

Ra'kesh felt a little out of sorts being addressed so politely by the proprietor of respectable business that no doubt served the upper class.  He fumbled for the bag on his hip and shook the seven diamonds into his palm.

 

“He has these,” he said, holding them up for Nalcarya to see.  “If he may intrude, who is this Sugar-Lips?” He could easily guess, but gossip was always good to hear.

 

"The head of the local Thieves Guild," Nalcarya said, leaning forward to peer at the diamonds.  "Most people know who it is even if the guards have never proved anything.  Good color, good clarity, fair cut, little as that matters to alchemical use.  I will offer you two hundred each."

 

Kala had heard of Sugar-Lips Habasi herself.  Nalcarya was not the only mage to complain of the Guild's voracity for alchemy-quality gemstones.

 

Ra’kesh’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing how much gold he nearly had in his hands.  Nevertheless, he casually closed his palm around them and looked at his companion.

 

“Two hundred is a bit low.  It might be better giving to friend Kala for use in potions.  Is this Nalcarya's final offer?”

 

Kala looked back at him blandly, concealing her startlement.  It had never even occurred to her to decline the Altmer's first offer.

 

Nalcarya sighed.  “I  _ suppose  _ I could go as high as two twenty-five, but only because you've caught me at a time of complete desperation.  Come now, you can't say fairer than that.”

 

Ra'kesh “hmmm'd” as if mulling it over, then nodded his agreement.

 

“Yes, that is fine.” He held out his fist to pour the diamonds into the Altmer's hands.  He winked at Kala when Nalcarya turned away to retrieve the gold.

 

Now she did stare at him dumbfounded, yellow eyes big.  She had always been far too intimidated by the other woman's manners to even think about haggling.

 

Nalcarya poured the diamonds into a jar, sealed it, and opened an iron casque to count drakes into a small velvet bag.  Kala quickly erased the expression as the Altmer turned back to them.

 

“There you are.  One thousand, five hundred and seventy-five drakes.  A pleasure doing business with you, Serjo.” She held out the bag.

 

Ra'kesh bowed his head politely after accepting the bag.

 

“And the same to you, Sera Nalcarya.  Good day, and this one hopes she has no further problem with thieves.”

 

He held the door open for Kala.   Kala bowed to the Altmer as well, and stared blankly at Ra'kesh for a moment before preceding him through the door.   As soon as they were out on the street with the door closed behind him, he ripped open the bag and held it to his nose, breathing deeply the scent of wealth.

 

“Aaaah yes!” he exclaimed and started purring.  “Ra'kesh has truly earned this bounty.” He removed the smaller bag of gold from his belt and held it out to Kala.

 

“I can't believe you got another 25 a stone out of Nal -” The purring stopped her.  It was almost a hypnotic sound; she could feel herself relaxing as she listened, eyes blinking slowly up at him.

 

“Kala should go to the river and buy big slaughterfish for tonight, as well as other foodstuffs.  Ra'kesh will go and buy a few things that he wants, and perhaps sniff around for a place to sell the calcinator.  Although he suspects he has already found it; do you know where this Habasi hangs out?”

 

She took the gold mechanically, shaking herself.

 

“At the South Wall, I've heard,” she said.  “At least, that's what I heard at the Lucky Lockup.  I definitely would not care to go there alone.  What's this f – oh.  Right.  Food.  Yes, thank you.  I'll just go and get that, then.  Be careful, please.”

 

She turned and hurried away down the hill.  It had been a strange, strange morning.  Shopping for food would be a very ordinary and very welcome relief.

 

\---

 

_ The South Wall.  Hmmm.   _ He should have expected as much.  That pub was probably the seediest place in Balmora.  Where else would the head of the Thieves Guild be?

 

After watching Kala disappear down the hill, he wandered idly past the manors with no concrete goal.  Here the cobblestone was swept clean and neatly polished.  It seemed that a guard leered at him from every corner, their helmed faces following him as he passed.  After a while he happened to find himself looking down at the commercial district from a ledge.  He recognized the street below; both Ra'Virr's shop and the Mages Guild were here.  He noted the Fighters Guild next door.

 

_ Not today.  When Ra'kesh has his strength, _ he told himself and turned down the steps that led below.

 

The first order of business was a new outfit.  He bought a red linen tunic with golden trim, brown breeches and an embroidered netch leather belt.  The belt featured straps on one side to hold a scabbard, to accommodate his new sword, and a pouch on the other side for coins and miscellanea.  They were modest clothes, but fresh and new, and the money he might have spent at a pricier shop was better spent elsewhere.

 

He traded in the bandit's old dagger for a steel hunting knife.  It was smaller but in much better condition and more practical for skinning and gutting.

 

But the item he was happiest about was the lute.  He had to check several shops before he found it, and could only get one in the Dunmer style which was slightly disappointing.  It was a simple instrument with hardly any ornamentation aside from a curve in the neck and the elegantly asymmetrical shape of the body.  He spent a little extra to get a carrying strap for his back.  In the end he had spent an even sixty, leaving plenty to spare.

 

He arrived at Kala's with the clothes under one arm and the lute on his back.  He'd been out for a while, so he assumed she would be home by now.  He rapped out a few notes from a half-remembered tune on the door.  It then occurred to Ra'kesh that he technically lived there, at least for the time being.  It was not locked so he pushed inside without waiting.

 

\---

 

Kala bought a big basket first of all, to carry her purchases.  Then she bought a big slaughterfish, some scrib jelly, new potatoes, bread, scuttle, leeks, a small flask of flin; she even bought a couple of sweetrolls from the bakery.  The baker, Kervis Felarie, did a double take when she recognized a regular customer.

 

“My Lords, girlie, what've you been doing to yourself? If you lose any more weight you'll disappear.” This was an outlandish lie; but Kervis was a plump woman herself, especially for a Dunmer, and she liked to see her customers looking well-fed.

 

“I went to Dagon Fel on mage business, Ser Kervis,” Kala explained.

 

“Well, I'm glad you come home safe.  There's all kinds of daedra and beasties out there in the wilderness, you know.”

 

“I know,” Kala said, grinning around her tusks.  “I'm glad, too.”

 

“What happened to your new slave, the tall Khajiit? I saw you go by here with him the other day.  Did he run away?”

 

“No, he's a freedman now.  He's staying with me while he looks for work,” she explained cheerfully.

 

“Really! Well I never!” The older woman looked taken aback, blinking red-on-red eyes beneath her blue kerchief.  “You just be careful, dearie.  I know you're a good girl and I'd hate to see harm come to you.”

 

“If harm does come to me, it won't be from Ra'kesh,” Kala said.  “He saved me from a clannfear and then from a bandit while we were out in the wilderness.  There's really no one I trust more.”

 

She was surprised to realize it was the truth.  She had always been taught to be wary of strange men.  But at first he'd been trapped by the bracers, and then gradually he had proven himself to be quite a different Khajiit from the surly, lying addict she had bought in Tel Aruhn.

 

“Well, I suppose some Khajiit are trustworthy,” Kervis said doubtfully.  “As long as they stay off the skooma.”

 

“Well, that's true for everybody, Sera.  You take care.”

 

Kervis waved as she went out.  Kala checked inside the paper wrap on her way home.  There were four sweetrolls instead of two.

 

Once home she set about unpacking, then set to cleaning the slaughterfish, scooping the guts fins into the paper wrap to take to the bin out front.  She was still scaling it when there was a tap on the door, the sound of an old folk tune –  _ shave and a haircut, scrib scrib –  _ and Ra'kesh walked in carrying a package and a lute.

 

“Hello!” She waved the knife at him.  “I'll have this on to roast in a couple of minutes.  Are you taking up the lute?”

 

He slung the lute off his back so Kala could get a better look at it and tossed the other things down on the table for now.

 

“This one used to play, but he has not for many years.  Hopefully he remembers.” He pulled out a chair so he could sit down with the lute comfortably across his knee.  He ran a finger down the length of the neck, sadly thinking that in a few weeks he'd probably be pawning it.  It wouldn't take long to blow through his current stash of gold.  He put that thought away and picked gingerly at the strings, wincing at the discordant notes it produced.

 

Ra'kesh tried again.  After a few minutes he was playing reasonably well, still going slow and careful and making a few mistakes.  His fingers remembered the courses better than he expected.  When he opened his mouth to sing, his voice was smooth and pleasantly modulated.

 

_ “A fair maiden of creamy pelt, pink nose, _

_ and amber eyes has kissed my cheek and said _

_ to me her fond and aftermost good-byes. _

 

_ We rolled, we roiled, all night had I toiled. _

_ But away to the sea, with song alone - _

_ and lice, I go - to mark the memory.” _

 

He opened his mouth as if to continue, then clamped it shut with a sheepish expression.  The lute squeaked at the abrupt cessation.

 

“In third verse, song reveals that she stole his purse also, but Ra'kesh does not remember the words.”

 

Kala continued moving about the kitchen as she listened to Ra'kesh tune the lute.  She was surprised to hear him sing; he had a better voice than she had expected.  When he trailed off she grinned over her shoulder.

 

"I think every species has one of those.  In the version from Orsinium he steals her father's prized axe and she rows a boat for fifty miles trying to get it back."

 

She lit the oven easily – no trouble with the spell today – and put the fish in to bake.

 

“Ra'kesh would never be so dumb as to piss off an Orc.  He saw how far Kala threw the clannfear.” He stood and leaned the lute against the wall.

 

“He was wondering, why not sell the calcinator to Nalcarya or another alchemist? Surely there are those who would not care where it came from, and can appreciate its value better than thieves? But if not, we could go to South Wall today and try to find Sugar-Lips.  Ra'kesh could go alone if you prefer,” he added the last part hastily, thinking that maybe he could find a buyer for the calcinator and get his skooma all in one go.

 

She watched him put the lute away with regret.

 

“Nalcarya wouldn't buy it.  It does make them more powerful than a normal calcinator, but they also have a metallic aftertaste.  Anyone you sold a potion would know it came from a Dwemer calcinator, and then the Legion would come for you if you sold many.” She added water and salt to the small potatoes and put them on to boil as she talked.  “So it would have to be someone who could afford it, but didn't expect to recoup the cost by selling potions.  That's not very many alchemists.  Some Telvanni looking for an edge against a rival, perhaps.”

 

She was chopping leeks now as she talked, adding them to the potatoes.  She shot him a misgiving look as he suggested going to the South Wall alone.

 

“I wouldn't ask you to do that.  It's a dangerous place, and they might offer you skooma to try to get a lower price.  I wouldn't want you to suffer temptation when you're doing so well.  It isn't worth that.  We should go together.”

 

Ra'kesh deflated like a punctured netch sac.  Well, it didn't matter.  He was free to come and go as he wished, so he could go alone later.

 

Still, it was sweet of her to worry.  He ardently wished that someday she would have someone in her life who deserved it.  Come to think of it, she'd had no visitors and talked to no one aside from guild mates in the short time he had known her.  Did she even have any friends?

 

“Khajiit and Orc should have a night out to celebrate good fortune.  Perhaps later this week.  And Kala's friends could come as well,” he suggested.

 

\---

 

Tiras Verendas was a Dunmer of average height and build.  His thin, craggy face was heavily creased around the eyes and mouth from both laughter and hardship.  Like most dark elves he had a very high forehead, his scalp shaved on either side to leave only a stripe of raven hair swept back down the middle.  He walked with a swagger, always peering at the world from slitted eyes.  Today he was dressed in expensive but well worn traveling clothes; sturdy leather boots and pants, a blue linen shirt.  A black cloak which nearly touched the ground concealed the green-tinged dagger on his hip.  The cloak was stained and tattered at the ends.

 

Tiras was walking through the commercial district on his way to the silt strider when he noticed a familiar shape ahead of him in the afternoon crowd.  Tall, yellow-tan pelt, black-tipped ears...  It almost looked like Ra'kesh.  But that was impossible.  He was surely a slave off in Telvanni territory by now.

 

The Khajiit turned right towards the open plaza down the street.  When he did, Tiras got a glance at the scar across his nose.  He only saw it for a second, but it was enough.

 

The elf ducked into an alley, pressing himself against the stone wall.  A door creaked open and clanged shut; the Khajiit had gone into that shop.  He waited for a moment until a herd of laughing children ran past the alley.  Tiras snagged one of the last to go by, a fellow Dunmer boy about ten years old.

 

“Will you earn a drake or two?” he asked in a gravelly rasp, releasing the boy's shirt.  The child's eyes were wide at being grabbed so roughly but his demeanor changed when he heard the offer.  He nodded enthusiastically.

 

“Fetch something to write with.  Hurry!”

 

The boy shot off towards Labor Town.  With a slight twist of his fingers Tiras drew forth his magicka.  A sea of flickering purple fires sprang up all around him, but he only needed to focus on one.  He could see four auras in the direction the Khajiit had gone.  The tallest was most likely Ra'kesh.  He ignored everything else.

 

It seemed an eternity before the boy returned.  Ra'kesh had already left the shop and went to another next door.  Whatever the Khajiit was doing, he was taking his sweet time.  Finally Tiras turned his head to the patter of running feet and heavy breathing.

 

“This is...  all I could find..  serjo,” the boy wheezed, heaving to catch his breath with one hand on his knee.  He held up a crumpled piece of parchment and a stub of charcoal.

 

“It's fine.” Tiras snatched them from his hands and scratched out a quick note, writing on both sides of the paper.  He handed it back to the boy.

 

“Take this to the Eight Plates.  It's the inn just up the road.  Give it to the Dunmer woman who works there and tell her to post this message.  The address is on the back.  It can go on Tiras Verendas's tab.  Do you understand everything I said?”

 

The boy nodded, carefully folding the paper and placing it in his pocket.

 

“Yes, serjo.  Eight Plates, Tiras Verendas.”

 

“Good.” Tiras dropped 3 coins into the boy's hand, eyeing the moving aura up ahead.  He waved the boy away without looking at him.  The tall aura was out on the street now for sure.  Tiras threw his cloak around his shoulder, arranging it to conceal his face below the nose before stepping out of the alley.  Ra'kesh was turning left now, back towards Labor Town.  He had clothes under his arm and a lute on his back.

 

Spending his ill-gotten gold on frivolities, Tiras thought with a derisive sneer, stepping into the flow of traffic and following at a distance.

 

He followed the Khajiit over the river and into the humble working class neighborhood to the East.  Traffic thinned here, giving him less opportunity to blend in.  He slowed his pace and hung back.

 

Ra'kesh had apparently reached his destination.  He knocked at a house that had one other aura moving inside, then entered.  Tiras waited for a while to see if the cat would emerge.  When he didn't, Tiras slunk over to the house.  Like most Balmora style homes it had a staircase leading to the roof.  He went up quietly and laid down flat against the ceiling, his body hidden from view to passersby below by the short lip that bordered the roof.

 

He lay in wait, watching the auras of his prey moving about below.


	15. Chapter 15

Bala and Vhajo stopped their game of Tribunal War to stare, saucer-eyed, at the roof next door.  Vhajo ran a hand over his mop of red hair.

 

“Bala,” he whispered, “Did you see that?” He was only two years older than his sister, and Ma wouldn't let him go play with the other boys until after supper.  He made the best of it; she wasn't so bad for a girl, and some of the other kids couldn't do the Merciful Goddess's voice as good as Bala.

 

“Yeah,” she whispered back.  “I have to go tell Mama.  You keep playing so he doesn't know we saw him.”

 

Vhajo nodded quickly.  “Aha, Chimer wretches! I will destroy you!”

 

Bala scooted hurriedly down the stairs, making as little sound as possible, and popped in the front door whispering urgently.

 

“Mama! There's a scary man on Ser Kala's roof!”

 

“Is it that Khajiit she bought?” asked her mother.  Presently she was grinding saltrice for flour in a mortar, owing to an ongoing feud with the baker over prices.

 

“No, Mama, it was a Dunmer man.  He looked very angry.  He's lying flat up there.”

 

“Well, that sounds suspicious.  It could be a thief.” Veljiri laid the pestle aside and dusted off her hands.  “Where's Vhajo?”

 

“Up there still playing so the scary man doesn't know I came down here.”

 

“Clever child.  Go tell your brother he has to carry out the dustbin, that shouldn't be suspicious.” She squeezed the little bun of black hair on top of the girl's head and went out to go next door and knock.

 

Kala had just finished laying bread on top of the stove to toast, and the house was filled with delicious smells.  Her mouth watered promisingly.  She glanced at Ra'kesh as his shoulders and tail drooped.   _ Oh dear.  Maybe he really  _ was  _ planning to get skooma. _

 

She gave some thought to his suggestion that she bring friends on an evening out.  “Actually that's a great idea.  I haven't been in touch with Relgin and Matha for a couple of weeks, but it's probably time I was.  I know both of them still go to the Guild when they're not doing research - ”

 

There was a firm knock at the door, two knocks,  _ tap tap.   _ That usually meant Sera Abathin from next door.  As she opened it she could hear Bala loudly saying from the roof,

 

“Vhajo, Mama says we're to carry the dustbin out.  It's full of saltrice ends.”

 

“Good afternoon, Sera gra-Nend,” said the Dunmer, keeping her voice down.  She was still a young woman, the edges of her eyes uncreased, though tribal scarring in a row of little dots marked one side of her face; she made no secret that she had been an Ashlander before her husband had bought her and married her.  Her hair was red, like her son's, and tied back in a loose tail.  “Bala says there is a Dunmer man lying down on your roof.  I think he may be up to mischief.”

 

Kala blinked, replying in a whisper.  “What's he going to do from up there? There are no windows big enough for a grown man to climb inside if he broke one.”

 

“I don't know.  Do you want me to tell a guard?”

 

“No, it might be some harmless soul who's head-down in the sujamma and went to the wrong house.  I'll go and look.  Thank you, Sera, I will owe you a favor.”

 

“Really? Because I may trouble you for a potion one of these days if you're serious!”

 

“Oh yes, any time,” Kala told her, smiling.

 

“All right, you just be careful, Sera.” Mrs.  Abathin nodded and went next door, herding her children inside as they pattered downstairs from the roof.

 

Ra'kesh's ears perked listening to Kala's hushed conversation with her neighbor.  He came over to the door as the woman walked away.

 

“This one will go up,” he said matter-of-factly, a rigid mask passing over his face.

 

\---

 

Tiras frowned.  Both auras were clustered by the door now.  It didn't necessarily mean anything; perhaps they were getting ready to follow the third person out somewhere.  But no, that one was returning to the house next door.  He tilted his head slightly to better catch the sounds from below, but otherwise did not twitch a muscle.

 

Kala turned back to stare at him.  She had never seen that expression.  It made something twist below her sternum in a way that hurt.

 

"All right," Kala said, glancing back at the stove top.  "You be careful."

 

She moved aside to let him out.  Then she ran for her alchemy belt to buckle it on over her linens and under her robe, took a deep breath, and crept back to the door and out to the stairs.

 

\---

 

Tiras watched the Khajiit's aura moving to the base of the stairs.  His leathery lips cracked into a thin smile.  So, he'd been found out.  No matter.  The elf climbed to his feet and leaned back against a storage barrel on the roof, arms crossed casually in front of him.  He dispelled the life detection with a flick of his wrist.

 

Ra'kesh moved slowly up the stairs, axe already in hand.  Cloth shifted against itself above him.  He walked the last few steps with a normal gait.  A Dunmer draped in black was waiting patiently, gazing over the ledge onto the street below.  He turned and smiled at the Khajiit.

 

“Hello, Ra'kesh.  I didn't expect to see you again.”

 

Ra'kesh's eyes narrowed.

 

“The pleasure is all yours.  What does Tiras want?”

 

“Don't play the fool with me, you stinking flea bag!” The elf's jovial demeanor suddenly shifted to an ugly snarl, but he remained relaxed against the barrel.  “Is the gold nearby, or have you spent it all on skooma and fancy clothes?”

 

Kala frowned as she edged up onto the bottom step.  What gold? They'd only just come back from Dagon Fel.  Or was this some ruffian Ra'kesh had known, looking to take advantage because he'd noticed the Khajiit spending money in town? Was it possible Ra'kesh had gold hidden somewhere but had just never gone back for it, first because of the bracers, then because he was still recovering?

 

The man sounded threatening.  That was concrete enough.  The fingers of Kala's right hand curled slightly, venom revolving under the skin as she very softly stepped up to the next step.

 

Ra'kesh chuckled, but the sound was devoid of humor.

 

“It is gone, Tiras.  He does not remember where he hid it.  Most likely it was in the house and guards confiscated it.” He shrugged.

 

“You really want to do this the hard way, huh?” Tiras asked.  His voice was so uncomfortably throaty.  It made Ra'kesh want to clear his own throat just listening to it.

 

Tiras uncrossed his arms and flung the cloak over his shoulder and out of the way.  Ra'kesh tensed for the inevitable.

 

“If this is how it must - ”

 

The mer leapt forward with dagger drawn in one fluid movement.  Ra'kesh turned aside too slow.  The poisoned steel shnk'd as it drove into the side of his belly.  The Khajiit half-roared, half-cried and swung the axe at Tiras, who jumped backward just in time for the sharp edge to catch him lightly across the chest.  Blood splurted out of Ra'kesh's wound when the blade withdrew along with its master.  The poison remained, burning violently through his body.  He could tell that it was a less potent poison than Kala's but still agonizing enough that he could barely think straight.

 

Kala continued to creep slowly up the stairs, stopping before her head cleared the roof.  She listened to the hostile conversation with half an ear as she tried to pinpoint each mer's position from their voices.  Then the Dunmer must have attacked in mid-sentence; she ran up the stairs as she heard Ra'kesh make a noise of rage and pain, hand raised.  Her heart thundered suddenly in her ears.

 

The Khajiit stood near the stairs, back to her, still staggering; blood dripped from a wound she could not see and struck the roof with astonishing slowness as the world seemed to shift to red.  Tiny droplets flung upward with majestic deliberation.  Her feet felt rooted to the ground, dragging away any possibility of dodging rapidly to one side or the other.

 

Past Ra'kesh she saw a Dunmer in black, dagger in one hand.  The blade was dark with blood.  She clenched her right hand into a fist, then rapidly spread the fingers toward the stranger.  A jet of green venom shot from her palm.

 

The Dunmer's eyes widened at the newcomer, shifting his head just slightly to face her.  His free hand was already raised to cast a healing spell, but it fizzled into nothingness when the poison hit.  He dropped heavily to one knee as it coursed through his body.  He gasped but did not scream.

 

Ra'kesh staggered forward, axe raised in the air, ready to strike Tiras even through the haze of his own pain.  His left hand clutched at the wound in his side.  The Dunmer could barely see the approaching Khajiit with his eyes rolled up in their sockets, but Tiras threw his body out of the way at the last moment.  Ra'kesh pitched forward following the weight of his missed swing.

 

Tiras scrabbled to his feet and vaulted off the roof.  A loud snap and a scream pierced the air when he hit the ground.

 

Kala's upper lip lifted in a snarl as a noise rumbled up from her chest, a deep growl that no human or elf could produce.  She scrambled up the steps and ran to the edge of the roof, hand upraised to cast again, but the mer was nowhere in sight.  She huffed in frustration, lowering her hand, and turned to look around for Ra'kesh.

 

Tiras clenched his teeth through the excruciating pain and barely managed to cast his cure.  The poison throbbed in time with his racing heart and seemed to go on forever.  Finally the refreshing tingle washed over him, calming the fire in his veins, but the pain from his leg twisted beneath him remained.  He rolled onto his side, dragging his broken leg out from under himself and laying it as straight as he could.  Blue light swirled from his palm to seep into his body.  The cut on his chest pulled shut, leaving behind only a tiny tear in his shirt.

 

His low level restoration spell was not enough to fully mend the leg but some of the pain had subsided.  He hauled himself up, grunting when his weight pressed upon the fractured bone.  He steeled himself against the pain and limped into the nearest alley that would take him to the next street.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh caught himself with one hand just before hitting the roof but his arm collapsed under his weight.  His chest thudded against the ground.  He was vaguely aware of a scream, and the fact that he needed to get up and be healed or the poison would kill him.

 

Kala turned just in time to see the Khajiit hit the roof on his face, unable to support his own weight.  She growled again, shaking her hand to disperse the gathered magicka of the poison, and skidded to her knees next to him.  She reached out to hook one arm around his body and pull him over onto his back.

 

She tried to be careful.  The thinking brain struggling to make itself felt said that she could hurt him at this moment, that care was needed.  The red tide said  _ fast,  _ and the red tide was in charge _.   _ She hauled him up onto her lap as she shifted over, clamped her right hand over the wound – hot blood ran over her fingers – and let the power go.  Blue light spiraled up around him.

 

Something was wrong.  She could still smell something off, something bitter and acrid.

 

“Hrgh,” said Kala, and let the power go again, fingers shaping the gesture without letting go of Ra'kesh.  The cure spell was darker green than the poison itself, a flare like a little star around his head and chest.  She squeezed him tightly, looking around with bared tusks for more enemies.  Her eyes were tiny slits.

 

Ra'kesh was just starting to slip into blackness when the pain ebbed away to nothing.  The scent of Orc and fresh linen filled his consciousness, followed by pressure and warmth on all sides.  Golden eyes snapped open.  He stiffened in sudden alarm.

 

“Tiras? Where did he go?!” He wriggled in her grasp but soon realized they were alone on the rooftop and relaxed in her arms.  Kala had saved him...  again.  How many times was that now? He looked up at her tense face, eyes flashing like a wild beast out for blood.

 

“This one is fine.  Everything is all right,” he said, gently pushing against her arm to let him up.

 

He was trying to get away.  She loosened her grip with difficulty.  Words eventually made their way in and coalesced out of noise and into meaning, and Kala let him go, shaking her head as she sat back, resting her weight on her hands.  The red tide ebbed, and her strength ebbed with it.  She forced words between her lips with difficulty, still fighting the urge to chase down the Dunmer and rend him with her bare hands.  Her voice came out as a harsh whisper.

 

“Who… Was….  That?”

 

Tiras must have gone over the roof.  Ra'kesh checked over the ledges and saw nothing on all sides.  He sighed and came back to Kala, slumping down on the ground in front of her.

 

“Oh, um...” Ra'kesh scratched his mane sheepishly, looking away.  If things had gone differently just now, Kala might have been killed.  He owed her an explanation.  “An old acquaintance...  more like a lackey of the man Ra'kesh worked for.  Khajiit may have stolen a lockbox belonging to this man.  But he was not in his right mind at the time and has no memory what became of the box.  They are from Vivec, he did not expect to be recognized here in Balmora.”

 

He carefully peered at her from a lowered head after finishing his story, like a kitten awaiting a scolding.

 

Kala listened, trying to get her breath and her composure back.  One black eyebrow climbed slowly.  She leaned forward to rest her arms on her thighs, crosslegged under her robe.

 

“You gave me the impression you worked for a petty drug dealer of some sort,” she said.  “Not someone who had fast-moving lackeys with poisoned daggers.” She glanced at the low parapet.  “And better potions than the Fighters Guild hands out, or he can heal himself.  I heard something snap when he landed, I'm sure of it.” Reminded, she hooked a green-dot from her belt and downed it.  She felt more alert, the heavy feeling draining out of her muscles.

 

“This one was not aware Tiras could move so fast.  But he has never before been on the receiving end of that Dunmer's rage.” Although he did watch Tiras roughing up debtors before.  The man clearly derived pleasure from the suffering of others, enough that some dubbed him “Crazy-Eyed Tiras” behind his back.

 

Ra'kesh put his chin in his palm, elbow on his knee, wondering what to do now.

 

“Khajiit had better go look for him.  It would be trouble for Ra'kesh if Tiras sends word of his location.  He could not stay in Balmora anymore if this were so,” he said reluctantly.  He looked at Kala and was genuinely sorry to have dropped this problem into her lap.  Ra'kesh sighed.

 

“Many thanks to friend Kala, who has once again saved Ra'kesh from certain death.  He apologizes for...  everything.”

 

Kala shook her head as she got up, smiling wryly.  She did not feel faint.  But then, she had had a potion to hand this time, and she had not spent an entire day walking first.

 

“I think we've just about drawn even, however that happened.” She had no trouble believing Ra'kesh had stolen from whoever-it-was; when deranged by skooma addiction or withdrawal she doubted there was anything of which he was not capable.  “You know I can't keep up with a running Khajiit.  Take these with you instead.”

 

She flicked two red-dots, two purples, and two dark greens out of her belt and offered them to him.  “Red heals you.  Purple makes you stronger.  Dark green cures poison.”

 

Ra'kesh accepted the potions with disbelief at her generosity.  It should have stopped surprising him long ago, but he had seldom known anyone who was kind even with nothing to gain for it.  He put the potions in Nalcarya's velvet coin bag, having no place else to carry them at the moment.  He picked up his dropped axe and stood as well.

 

“He will find a way to repay you some day.  Thank you.” His mouth quirked in a tiny smile, but his brows were drawn together almost sadly.  He held her gaze for a long moment before turning to jog downstairs.  Ra'kesh had one good guess about where Tiras might go based on what Kala said, but he had to get there first.

 

\---

 

Tiras dragged his throbbing leg through the streets of Labor Town, wincing at every step.  Balmora's temple was high on a hill that he was loathe to climb in his current condition.  His magickal repertoire was limited to his few simple heals, cures, and those which helped in his work, like life detection and lock opening.  No levitation for Tiras.

 

\---

 

She looked back, yellow eyes big and guileless and slightly pained.

 

“Just come back,” she said.  She was proud of how level she kept her voice.  If she had pleaded with him she would hate herself for it, she felt sure.  She held herself quite still until he was gone.

 

“Oh, damnation,” she swore for perhaps the second time in two weeks, and went slowly downstairs to finish preparing the food and blow out the oven fire.  She would make up a plate for him in case he came back, and quietly eat by herself, and wash up the dishes.  She would try not to remember that she had held him, and that some part of her had conclusively thought  _ mine. _

 

She would not weep.  Weeping was not for Orcs, and so she had often been told.

  
  


\---

 

“Here, little one,” said the Argonian.  The boy looked up warily, hand tightly clenched around the ball on a string he was playing with.  The very faint smell of Tiras clung around him; he had touched him at some point, probably to hand him something, and the urchin had not washed since then.

 

“The little one may have talked with a Dunmer, about so high, all in black, angry face.  He was an older man.  Did he give you something?”

 

The boy nodded, relaxing slightly as he realized the person in the high-necked blue blouse and tan hide pants was not looking to harass him for loitering or haul him away to sell him into slavery.  She was small, for an Argonian, and her scales were almost black, becoming dark brown only where the light hit them most directly.  Flares of gray marked her cheeks on either side, passing beneath olive green eyes with thin, irregular pupils.  Long claws should have made a noise as she walked on the cobbles, but they did not; the pad of each foot touched first, softening the sound.  A broad crest flared out behind her eyes, terminating in two little horns.

 

“He told me to go get something to write with,” the boy said.  “Then he gave me three drakes to take a note to the Eight Plates.”

 

“Do you know what it said?” A thick tail waved gently behind her.

 

The boy shook his head.  “I can't read, Sera.”

 

“Well, never mind, let the little one play with his toy.  Here.” She presented him with a drake between two neatly-kept claws, held out in such a way that he need not touch her to take it.  He snatched it and ran off.

 

Saw-Them-Fall watched him go, then turned to cast about the alley mouth, nostrils flaring.  It was easy to lose the trail in a city, but Tiras did not know she was still alive and seeking him.  Asking at the Eight Plates would not go well for her; they might even refuse to serve betmer in such a place.  But she thought she could scent his direction.  She set off slowly down the street.

 

The trail crossed itself.  Saw-Them-Fall stopped near a stack of crates that were just about tall enough to hide her with their shadow; she was hardly over five feet tall and the pattern of her scales blended readily.  He had passed this way quite recently, and the smell of him had the acrid tang of adrenaline.  He had been injured, or afraid.  Tiras wasn't afraid of much, she suspected.

 

She watched a tall Khajiit pass, nostrils flaring to catch the scent.  It was not familiar.  He seemed to be headed in the direction Tiras had gone, though.  Interesting.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh remembered passing by the Temple earlier that morning before selling the diamonds.  He hoped the path he was taking was direct; he didn't know the city well enough to chance an alternate route.  If Tiras came this way, Ra'kesh would see no sign of him.  The cunning Dunmer would probably be sticking to back roads and alleys...  if he were even going to the Temple at all.  Ra'kesh was taking a pretty big gamble.

 

He was panting by the time he reached the Temple, ears drooping under the sweltering midday sun.  Boethiah herself could not have created a more perfect location for an ambush.   It was set back far from the main street with no other buildings in its immediate vicinity.  The entrance to the domed building was surrounded by a wall in the shape of a semi-circle, open to the air but blocking the view of the little courtyard from the road.  There weren't even any guards outside.

 

Ra'kesh pressed himself against the wall to the right of the entry archway and breathed deeply, willing his pounding heart to slow.  He fished one of the purple-dot potions from his bag and popped the cork with a claw, then downed it in a quick gulp.  Power rippled through his muscles, and with it, a heady sense of invincibility.  He threw the empty vial down and palmed his axe.  It weighed nothing in his hands.  He faced the entry, waiting, lips drawn up over his clenched teeth and ears alert.


	16. Chapter 16

Tiras shuffled stiffly up the stairs to the Temple, stopping momentarily on each step before dragging the fractured leg up after the rest of him.  He saw stars every time he put his foot down.  He had considered sitting for a while and waiting for his magicka to regenerate enough to try healing again, but there was too much risk that the Khajiit would come sniffing after him.  In five minutes he'd be healed and on on his way out through the guild guide, though.   After this, damn the strider.

 

\---

 

Saw-Them-Fall followed the Khajiit, and the Khajiit turned toward the temple.  She was certain that he could not scent Tiras directly.  Khajiit had a better sense of smell than humans and elves, but they could not parse out the place where each drop of sweat had fallen, distinguish it from the cacophony of scents that was Balmora: sweat and the bodies of many races, guar dung, refuse, moon sugar, liquor, potions, and the tang of magicka, not quite a smell but heady and detectable nonetheless.

 

He must be anticipating that the Dunmer would go to have himself healed.  So he was probably the source of Tiras' injury.  The Argonian scissored her nostrils shut in annoyance, the short spine to either side of her tympanae flexing forward against her skull.  Honor must be satisfied, and she did not plan to be balked of her rightful prey.

 

The Khajiit had to work going up the hill.  His scent intensified as he panted, shedding heat from his tongue into the air that drifted along his back-trail to Saw-Them-Fall.  She made note of it, but it meant nothing to her in particular yet.  She watched him pop in through the courtyard's entrance.  Then she circled around outside it, soft and quick as a blowing leaf.  The claws of her left middle finger and thumb tapped together once, and she grew translucent, blending even better with her surroundings.  She jumped and caught the top of the wall at a place where a spreading tree overhung it.  Another second and she was flat along the top of the wall, the shadow of the leaves breaking up her outline even as the chameleon spell made her harder to see.

 

She was unarmed.  She was always unarmed, and never.

 

\---

 

Black ears twitched at the labored breathing just outside the courtyard.

 

_ He comes.   _ Ra'kesh pressed himself flatter.  He almost lost the sound of leather boots sliding wearily across cobblestone beneath his own blood thudding in his ears.  Time slowed to a crawl.  A gray face thrust into view, followed by a black-draped body.  Just as those angry red eyes turned to him, Ra'kesh shoved the elf out of the doorway and slammed the axe into Tiras's left side.  He screamed and fell back against the wall, cloak billowing around him.  Ra'kesh raised the axe to strike again and finish the job before the occupants of the Temple could come, but a well-placed kick from Tiras knocked the weapon out of his hand.  It twirled through the air and clattered on the stone behind him.

 

\---

 

As Tiras stepped into the doorway, Saw-Them-Fall rotated her right hand at the wrist.  Power tingled into her fingers and burst out into form.  Her claws closed around the handle of the daedric dagger as it materialized out of the air, hot to the touch and glowing with the sullen fire of its intaglios.  She dropped forward over the wall, gently nudged herself away with her free hand, and landed on her feet in time to hear the scream and see the kick.

 

She threw the dagger.  It struck Tiras in the eye with a wet  _ thunk.   _ The Dunmer grasped at his attacker blindly, hand grasping convulsively at the Khajiit's shirt as he collapsed.  The body twitched, and the Argonian shut her nostrils against the stink of violent death as she heard the approach of running feet.

 

“Run, or it is your life, fool,” she hissed at the Khajiit, scooping up the axe and tossing it at him hilt-first as she ran for the opposite wall.

 

The dagger evaporated into golden sparks.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh caught the axe, just barely.  He was so shocked that his hands fumbled and dropped it, but caught it again before it hit the ground.  He holstered the axe in his belt and stumbled away from the corpse with a very un-Khajiitly lack of grace, then bolted out of the courtyard.  He veered left for the river and ran like a hunted nix.  He didn't stop until he reached the river.

 

_ What in the name of the moons just happened? _ he asked himself, leaning against a mooring post to catch his breath.  A few fishmongers turned to glare at the heaving Khajiit with the bloody axe.  He realized he was being conspicuous, so he hurried across the bridge towards Kala's house.  His muscles twitched with adrenaline but he restrained himself to a leisurely stroll to avoid suspicion.

 

He rapped quickly on Kala's door to alert her that he was entering then looked both ways down the street before pushing inside.  He was shaken, and justifiably paranoid that he had drawn the wrong sort of attention.  He needed to get off the street fast.

 

\---

 

Saw-Them-Fall vaulted up over the courtyard wall and down the other side, still translucent but much less so in direct sunlight.  She padded rapidly down the hillside, listening to the sounds of shock and indignation from behind her as the body was found.  She diverted over to the shadow of the city wall as she watched the Khajiit sprint for the river.  It would not be hard to follow his trail while it was fresh.  She need only open her nostrils halfway to catch the electrifying tang of sweat and adrenaline, specific not only to species but to each individual.

 

Once in shadow she slowed, letting the distance between them widen.  Misunderstandings were less wont to happen if she gave him time to calm down before approaching him again, and the rule dictated that she not engage in combat without a contract or an affront to her Tong honor.

 

She did have a contract, of course.  It was tightly rolled, sealed in oilskin, and stowed in the pocket of her hide trousers.  But there was no name on it yet, because she did not know the name of Tiras' employer.  Attempting to track him back to the target of her contract was what had led to his dropping her off Vivec and leaving her for dead.  Typical Dunmer arrogance, to leave a dying Argonian in the water.  He had probably thought he was being cleverly ironic.

 

He crossed the river.  The bridges were flat and open, without shade, without rails.  Saw-Them-Fall waited patiently for her spell to dissipate, then walked out quite calmly into the daylight, small and harmless in her plain clothes.  She walked with the rolling, birdlike gait dictated by her splayed digitigrade feet, eyes half-closed as she enjoyed the warmth of the setting sun on her back.  A Hlaalu guard passed her without giving her a second glance.  He was a head taller than she was.

  
  


\---

 

Kala was sitting at the alchemy table, busily distracting herself making more purples with the last of her ash yam, when she heard the rapid  _ taptaptap.   _ She turned just as the door opened, trying not to look hopeful; she would look very stupid if it was one of the neighbor children.

 

But it was Ra'kesh.  She exhaled hard, wondering why her knees felt weak.

 

“Oh, good, you're back.  Come eat dinner, it's getting cold.  It's a good slaughterfish - ” She got up to go to the kitchen, then stopped in mid-stride as she registered his expression.

 

“What is it? What happened?” Her eyes searched him up and down, but she saw no sign of injuries.

 

“Khajiit has no idea,” he said blankly, walking past her to the drawer of spare rags she kept by the alchemy table.  He wiped off the bloody axe, looked around for a place to throw it, but carried the rag with him back to the dining table instead.  He plopped down heavily in a chair.

 

“Erm… throw it in the oven,” she said, and went to light the fire.  She set the plate in front of him as he talked and tugged the leftover paper from the saltrice bread off the top.  It was slaughterfish with leeks and potatoes, lukewarm but still fragrant.

 

“This one laid in wait at the Temple, thinking Tiras would go here to be healed.  He did.  Ra'kesh attacked him in the courtyard.  Right before he could strike killing bow, Tiras kicked the axe out of his hand! Ra'kesh could easily have strangled the bastard, of course, but out of nowhere a spirit appears and kills Tiras with a dagger to the eye! She spoke to Ra'kesh and told him to run.  He did not need to be told this twice.” He crossed his arms over his chest and laughed suddenly at the absurdity of the situation.

 

“Actually, it was no spirit,” he continued, grinning.  “It was an assassin half-hidden with chameleon, but she did appear quite otherworldly at the time.  One wonders who Tiras pissed off - or which God has smiled at Ra'kesh.  Either way, that business is happily finished!”

 

“I don't suppose you know  _ why  _ an assassin would be after him? I suppose more importantly, will his employer send someone else when he doesn't come back?”

 

\---

 

The trail ended at a small two-story house in Labor Town.  Saw-Them-Fall sniffed as she passed the crate that obviously held the refuse barrel.   _ One Orc, one Khajiit, saltrice ends, slaughterfish bones and scales, scraps of the less useful parts of many alchemical plants.   _ Tiras had been here, had gone up the stairs; a brief and silent investigation found that no one was on the adjoining roofs (the scent of many dinners was a distraction which she determinedly fought off).  Tiras had lain flat on the rooftop, arriving calm but leaving excited or injured.  There were spots of Khajiit blood on the mud seal.  She could tell where the Orc had knelt by the new smell, one that made her flick her nostrils shut in self-defense for a moment, an organic chemical stink that was Orc amplified to the tenth power.   _ Berserk. _

 

The Khajiit had not been injured when she had seen him.  There had been a taint of blood, but it was not fresh.

 

_ Either the Orc or the Khajiit is a healer and an alchemist, and I do not think the one who attacks first with an axe is a mage.   _ She had been speaking Cyrodilic most of her life.  She hardly slipped up the pronouns even to herself unless she was greatly distracted.

 

So Tiras had come here to attack one of them, they had fought him off, and he had fled to seek healing.  The Khajiit had followed to finish him off while the Orc… Had stayed behind in the house? That seemed odd if they were in league against an agent of the Camonna Tong.

 

She had learned all she could up here.  Saw-Them-Fall went to sit on the steps for a moment, below the roof but above the street, and curled her tail around her left hip as she thought it over.  Best give them both a few more minutes to calm down.  An Orc could not use that particular trick more than once a day, but it had obviously been an overly exciting afternoon.

 

\---

 

He leaned over to chuck the rag into the fire and made a short happy sound when he didn't miss, then turned greedily to the food.  It might not be hot out of the oven, but at least it wasn't pemmican!

 

“That is a good point...  Yes, someone may come looking.  It is probably best for Ra'kesh to lay low for a few weeks just in case, but sudden deaths are to be expected in the life of a criminal.  Tiras surely had many enemies; it will shock no one that he turns up dead.  The Thieves Guild in particular would have it out for his group because they worked without sanction.  Tiras himself was a nasty person who had a long, ugly career behind him, although Ra'kesh does not know the details.” He shrugged, unconcerned, and tucked into his meal.  Criminals generally did not discuss their past exploits with other criminals - too much fear of snitching.

 

Kala listened, frowning.  She stood leaning one hip against the kitchen cupboards, goblet of water in hand.  Ra'kesh didn't seem concerned about it.  On the other hand, Ra'kesh had not seemed concerned that Tiras would turn up in the first place.

 

“What about the cash box he was after?” she asked.  “Wouldn't they send someone else to try and get it back?”

 

If it had been worth one man's life perhaps it was worth another.  Or perhaps life really was that cheap to these ruffians.

 

“No one knows Ra'kesh is in Balmora.  They would know he was arrested and sent to Tel Ahrun.  It was just bad luck that Tiras happened to be in town.” He paused for a moment.  A vague memory of an angry voice outside his cell in the Vivec jail came back to him.  Someone had come asking questions, but he was too busy seizing in withdrawal to give a coherent answer.  He had babbled some nonsense for a while before the voice went away.

 

But no one came to see him in the slave pens.  Perhaps they thought the gold lost for good and considered a life of slavery better punishment than death.  He snickered to himself over that and resumed his meal.  

 

“Either way, once we've fenced the calcinator I'm going to have keys made for us and pay one of my guildmates to enchant the lock more powerfully than I can,” Kala said.  “Having the house unlocked is not a good idea.”

 

Ra'kesh looked up guiltily when Kala mentioned the lock.

 

“This one did not mean to bring so much trouble to your door.  He honestly did not expect Tiras or anyone turning up.” He rose to scrape the bones from his plate and wash the dishes.

 

“I bought a slave for cheap,” she pointed out calmly.  “On the assumption that you might not survive.  Nothing you have done since we met is worse than that.” She had ceased to torment herself over it, now that he was free, but she would never excuse that action to herself.

 

“And besides, when I submit my monogram there's at least a dim chance someone will read it who has actually been to Drakan-Ka.  I'm not sure what will happen at that point.” She finished her glass of water and went to set the goblet on the counter top, brows drawn together over the flat bridge of her nose.  “Frankly it's surprising no one ever broke in here to look for diamonds.  All the neighbors know I'm an alchemist, and all my guildmates know it as well.  I've just been lucky that I'm not in Nalcarya's class yet.  You picked my lock easily enough.”

  
  


\---

 

A faint waft of soap reached Saw-Them-Fall where she sat.  Dishes were being washed.  Well, that was a calm and domestic enough activity to bear being interrupted by a stranger.  She slid sinuously down the stairs and onto her feet, then went over to knock gently four times.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh opened his mouth to ask a question but the knock interrupted his thoughts.  His ears flattened in alarm.

 

“What if a guard followed Ra'kesh?” Given that no one had intercepted him on the street, it seemed unlikely.  He hurriedly wiped off his wet hands and edged towards the door.  He couldn't let Kala risk herself if it were an associate of Tiras.

 

He tensed in front of the door, hand on his axe, but not drawing it yet.  He pulled it open just a crack and immediately recognized the Argonian, more by smell than by sight.

 

“What does she want?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

 

Kala moved to the other side of the room, trying to position herself so that she could fire at the door without hitting him if necessary.  She did not want to be party to the murder of a guard, but what could she do? At this point she was already hiding contraband Dwemer artifacts.

 

Saw-Them-Fall bowed in an odd way, inclining her torso and head more to the left than forward, left hand on her chest.  It let her eyes remain fixed on the Khajiit.  She was using no camouflage now.  He was looking at a five-foot Argonian in a high-necked blue blouse and hide trousers.  She had a belt with a couple of small pouches on it, but no apparent weapons.

 

“A moment of your time, please,” she said.  “I believe that we still have a common enemy.” She had almost no accent in Cyrodilic.  In a dark room it would not be obvious it was an Argonian speaking.  “To the Hist I am Hrzaxhi, but to my prey and my brethren I am Saw-Them-Fall.”

 

Ra'kesh paused for a moment, unsure of what to do.  He slowly opened the door further and stepped back to permit her entry.

 

“Although he thanks Saw-Them-Fall for her help earlier, this one has no further enemies to his knowledge.  Tiras was not alone?” His eyes followed the Argonian closely as she entered, hand still poised over his weapon.  He risked a quick glance at Kala's face to see if she were okay with this stranger entering.

 

Kala nodded minutely.  Having the woman stand talking in the doorway would draw the neighbors' attention.  She looked the Argonian over curiously from her vantage point, resting a hand on her alchemy table.  She was so small.  It was hard to imagine her as the assassin Ra'kesh had described.

 

“Tiras was alone today,” said Saw-Them-Fall, following him inside with her rolling, mincing gait.  “Good evening, Sera,” She bowed to the Orc as well.  “But Tiras has an employer whom I would very much like to find.  I thought perhaps you might have some idea where he is.”

 

Ra'kesh stepped back as the Argonian passed him, giving her a wide berth.

 

“Yes,” he said slowly.  “He may know.  Although it is not Khajiit's business, he supposed you intend to kill him?”

 

Ra'kesh's body language told Kala more than the Argonian's did.  The lizard-woman's expression was calm and benign, green eyes held mostly open, the apology spine by each tympanum politely half-erect.  Her tail waved gently.  Kala folded her arms and stayed where she was, head slightly on one side.

 

“In accordance with the terms of my contract,” Saw-Them-Fall said.  “It is legal and aboveboard.  But this dastard has made himself scarce, and when I attempted to question his henchman he ambushed me in Vivec.  It took me some time to recover and to track him here.”

 

Both were obviously wary of her, the Khajiit keeping his distance, the Orc folding her arms and eyeing her sideways.  One could not blame them; probably one or both of them had barely survived Tiras's attack.  Given the astonishingly mingled odors that emanated from the table where the Orc stood, and the robes that she wore, Saw-Them-Fall was fairly certain she knew which of them had healed the other.

 

_ So she has a writ, _ Ra'kesh thought.  He relaxed somewhat, dropping his hand to his side.  She was not a threat to them.  He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his mane.

 

“The man in question is a friend of this one.  Khajiit has stolen something from him.  He is a vindictive man who will not forgive...  Still, it pains him to deliver an assassin to his door.” His tail flicked as he briefly considered killing the Argonian.

 

Kala relaxed as well.  She watched Ra'kesh's tail twitch from the corner of her eye.  That was not promising.  She turned to see if the Argonian had noticed.  She did not appear to have.  She looked completely relaxed.  Kala did a double-take as she realized what he had actually said, though.  It seemed insane to her that he would wish to spare someone who would put him through what he had suffered on the roof.

 

If the Argonian had an opinion, it was not obvious on her face, except that the apology spines slowly pulled flat.

 

“Then I hope you will not consider me rude if I observe that you seem to choose your friends unusually poorly,” said Saw-Them-Fall.  “I cannot force you to give me information, but if you should change your mind, you may leave a message for me at the Guildhall here in town.  Will you not share your names?”

 

He considered her offer for a moment, ears twitching.

 

“This one is called Ra'kesh.  It may be that he has chosen his friends poorly, but Khajiit has honor and will not throw a friend to the slaughterfish, no matter how poor a friend he may be,” he said evenly.  He dipped his head in a small, polite bow and moved back towards the door.

 

“Kala gra-Nend,” Kala said, and bowed as well, pressing her fingertips together in a Guild salute common on many continents.  “I will remember your offer.  Thank you.”

 

The Argonian tapped her tail against the high digitigrade heel of one foot, clicking her tongue.  “One must hold one's honor dear, or what are we? Then good evening, Sera, Serjo.  Perhaps we will meet again.” She went out without reluctance; she did not even seem afraid to turn her back to them on the way outside.

 

Saw-Them-Fall shrugged philosophically and turned her steps toward High Town and the guildhall.  She had gotten to Tiras.  That was a start.  In the meantime she would have to see if she could pick up another contract while she was in town, and bide her time.

 

Back inside the house, Kala stared at Ra'kesh.  “I hope that wasn't a stupid idea,” she said.  “Because it really seems to me like it was.”

 

He smiled uneasily, shutting the door behind their guest.  He knew Kala would not react well to this.

 

“Ra'kesh owes an explanation.  It is overdue.” He pulled out the alchemy table chair and waved a hand at it, indicating she should sit, then turned the other chair to face her.  He sat down himself, one ankle over his knee.

 

“Ra'kesh was stranded in Vvardenfell after ship wrecked off Azura's Coast.  He survived with no gold, no friends or family to turn to, and lived alone outside for many years.  In Vivec he met a man - an Imperial.  Ra'kesh will not say his name, as it is better for Kala not to know.  anyway, he was kind to Ra'kesh, as few people are.  This one was saving money to go home and friend helped Khajiit do this by giving him work.  True, it was not good, honest work.  He was a bad man.

 

“Ra'kesh started skooma around this time and eventually he was too thin and sick to do any more work.  He stole the lockbox out of desperation because he was going to run out of gold for skooma otherwise.  Tiras or someone was probably on their way to kill Khajiit when guards came.” He pursed his lips at this, whiskers jutting forward.  “If Ra'kesh could return the valuables and gold he would.  But guards most likely have it now, and Imperial friend may not forgive the theft anyway.  But with Tiras dead, no one knows Ra'kesh is here.  It is safe.  He does not want to betray the friend who helped him.”

 

Finished with his story, he looked into Kala's eyes with one ear cocked to the side, imploring her to understand his position.

 

Kala walked past him to lock the door, then went back and sat down reluctantly, bracing one foot against the bottom cross-bar of the chair.  Her brows drew down as she listened.  Looking him in the eye did something odd to her stomach – there was a twist and a drop somewhere around her sternum – and it was even harder when he did that with his ear.  She swallowed and pushed it away.  Her face flickered between angry puzzlement and hurt and finally settled on almost no expression, the default when she was trying not to feel something she ought not.  It was a moment before she could put together the words.

 

“If it's the same man who paid you in skooma, he is not your friend,” she said.  “A friend would not do that to you.”

 

Ra'kesh broke the gaze.  He had not missed the emotions that played across her face.  It deeply bothered him when she was not happy.  This brought him great confusion- and shame, knowing he was the cause of it.

 

“Maybe so..  But it is Khajiit's own weakness that made him an addict.  If he can assign blame to his friend, Ra'kesh must also assign blame to himself.” He shifted in the chair to look at the window, a more neutral location to rest his eyes.  It was still light out, but the sun would set soon.

 

“If Kala wishes to go to South Wall, the time is soon approaching.”


	17. Chapter 17

Ra’kesh looked away, and Kala realized how much she had probably given away.  It was bad enough that she felt as she did for someone who could not reasonably return those feelings; to expose them constantly to him was unbearable.  She resolved to work on controlling her face more carefully.

 

“I think that's being too easy on him, but no one else can decide that for you, I suppose.” She stood and turned to push the chair in, downing a purple dot from her belt.  She would have to spend a couple of days traveling the striders to get new ingredients soon.  She was down to two purples, three greens and a couple of reds, plus the two precious white dot invisibilities she had never yet used.

 

“All right.  Let me get the calcinator.”

 

She went upstairs to get the bulky thing from the closet – she knew that it weighed full forty pounds, but it seemed much lighter now – and carried it downstairs wrapped in an old robe.  She set aside all of the books and tools from one knapsack and crammed the calcinator in it instead, tying the flap down tightly.  It bulged in an odd way, but it was not obvious what was in it, at least.

 

“If a guard asks I will have to say it's ingredients and hope they don't ask to see.” She sighed.  Many of the guards of Labor Town knew her by at least by face now, as they did many of her neighbors.  The thought of lying to them for material gain rankled.  Still, she needed the money, and if they were not safe – she could not feel that they were, or would ever be again, not with the Altmer's ghost breathing in her ear every time she started to relax – if they were not safe she needed it all the more.  She needed a better lock, a better spell, travel fare for ingredients.

 

She needed space and time to write her monogram.  Maybe tomorrow, when she was home from the Guild, she could start writing.

 

He waited by the window, hands clasped behind his back, while she went upstairs.  His tail brushed the floor as it slowly curled back and forth.  Ra'kesh was looking through the thick glass but his gaze was very far away.

 

He shook himself from his thoughts and turned to her with a wry smile when she spoke.

 

“No guard is going to look twice at harmless citizen Kala gra-Nend.  She worries far too much.”

 

“Good point,” she said lightly.  “I'll introduce myself that way from now on.  Hello, I'm harmless citizen Kala gra-Nend.” She shouldered the pack and went to unlock the door and head out, waiting to lock it behind Ra'kesh.

 

The sun was nearly set now, the shadows lengthening and blending.  She knew the way to the corner club, left out of her door and left again at the end of the street.  She had passed by it once or twice on her way to visit another mage who lived in the cheap housing up on the hill back behind the river.  She wondered how Celirius was.  They hadn't spoken in some time.  Well, there was nobody better for locks who still ran a legitimate business, so with luck she would be seeing him soon.

 

The South Wall Corner Club was much busier at this time than it had been when Ra'kesh visited early that morning.  Foreigners loitered outside and in the narrow hallway that led to the basement.   They stared in curiosity at the strange Khajiit and Orc pushing past them with the cumbersome pack.  The hungry gleam in their eyes made Ra'kesh think of vultures.  A sweet and airy duet between flute and mandolin carried cheerfully from below, at complete odds with the general tone of the place.

 

His eyes roamed from table to table when they entered the basement, searching out the Khajiit from earlier.  Luckily, she was not present - but the musky vapor from a skooma pipe hung in the air.  He couldn't see anyone with a pipe, but there was another door leading to a back room on the other side of the bar.  A sudden hunger gripped him; he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a split second to revel in that scent.  It was too thin in the air; he wanted more! Ra'kesh barely stifled an exasperated growl.

 

The place set Kala's teeth on edge.  There was that awful musky stink, like moon sugar gone rancid.  It must be really overpowering to a Khajiit, so it gave her deep misgivings when Ra'kesh stopped to breathe it in.   _ Oh, so that's what skooma smells like.   _ She did not like the look on his face in that moment.  She had seen it perhaps once before, in a moment when she had been very glad he had no crossbow to hand.

 

He noticed that there was indeed a wood elf seated in the corner.  Ra'kesh's eyes wandered to the satchel hanging beside him, strap draped over the back of his chair.  It was with great effort that he tore his gaze away and accompanied Kala to the bar.

 

The same man from before stood tending the bar.  He arched a brow at the odd pair, eyes sliding from familiar Khajiit to the bulging knapsack on the Orc's back.  Ra'kesh prayed the man would not say anything to indicate that he recognized him.  He counted out another ten gold and placed this in front of the man.

 

“Good evening, serjo.  We seek one called Sugar-Lips.  We are friends looking to do business.”

 

“Are you, now?” he said dully, removing the drakes from the counter.  “Sugar-Lips Habasi is the brown tabby over there.  Everyone knows her; you did not need to pay for that.” He grinned, revealing gaps on the top and bottom rows of his teeth.

 

Kala looked around them as he conversed with the bartender, listening but trying to keep an eye on everything at the same time.  It made her head ache.  Or maybe that was the smoke.

 

The brown tabby was a rangy Khajiit in a set of chitin armor, pale plates gleaming in the dim light.  A couple of rings jangled in her right ear as she flicked it in response to something the human woman to her left had said.  There was a long scar up one side of her muzzle.  Her tail was astonishingly still, lying half-curled around one leg of her chair as she sat back at her ease.  Other people gave her a wide berth as they moved about with food or drinks, or sometimes greeted her with a respectful nod; as Kala watched, a human with a bald crown and a ring of gray hair stopped to chat, resting one exquisitely gloved hand on the table.  His clothes were expensive and immaculate, silk tunic and velvet trousers bound up with shiny black cords.

 

“Chirranirr is becoming expensive to have as friend, yes,” Habasi could be heard to remark dryly as Kala turned to approach the table.  “If she does not learn she will not long be able to teach.  Our friend Phane will tell her this, but he will pay the bounty off.  This time.”

 

“Understood,” said the man, and made a bow of ridiculous ornateness; Habasi grinned at him, showing a gold tooth.

 

“Yes, yes, shoo.” She sipped something from a blue glass as she turned to look over the approaching Khajiit and Orc, lifting the beringed ear.  The tail remained quite still.  “Who is this? New friends for Habasi?”

 

“Yes, this one hopes so,” Ra'kesh said, politely dipping his head with ears held forward.  “He is Ra'kesh, and brings a friend who wishes to sell artifact of high value.  A Dwemer calcinator tonight, perhaps more in future if Habasi is connected to one who wishes to buy such things.” He gestured towards Kala with one hand before laying it in the palm of his other, waiting for the Khajiit's reply.  He resisted the urge to search the faces of the others nearby.

 

“Ra'kesh.” She trilled the R playfully as she looked him over, eyes relaxed in a half-squint.  Kala tried to look calm and friendly as Habasi turned to inspect her in turn.  The buxom woman sitting beside the Khajiit, brown-haired and brown-robed, reached over to rest a hand on her armored thigh.  Habasi nudged it away with an amused little  _ tsk.   _ “Ah-ah, Sottilde, she is a naughty girl.  Very well.  Let us see what pretty Orc has to show.”

 

Kala doffed the knapsack and set it on an empty section of table, carefully unfastening it to nudge the fabric down around the wrapped calcinator.  She unwrapped the robe from around it and pushed it down around the base, running her fingers over the brass intaglio at the bottom.

 

“The operating instructions are intact and legible,” she said.  “It is a First Era artifact, pre-aetherium.  There are no cracks in the glass, if you would care to inspect.” It was so thick that it distorted the images on the other side of it, like looking through water; the brown-haired woman's curious expression was pulled horizontally into a distorted mess.

 

“Pretty thing.” Habasi got up to run scarred fingers over the metal, peering at the glass cylinder in the top, touching the edges of the seams with a practiced search for flaws in the metal or clumsily soldering.  Movement revealed the two daggers strapped to her right hip, one beside the other.  “Never has it been repaired.  That will bring a good price.” She looked at them sideways, eyes the same yellow-gold color as Ra'kesh's, a little lighter than Kala's.  “Habasi gives them ten thousand for it.”

 

Ra'kesh would have liked to remain neutral but could not help the shock that briefly flashed over his face.  He turned his wide eyes to Kala, laying a hand on her shoulder.

 

“This is a good price?” he asked evenly, gently reminding Kala not to let herself be cheated.

 

Habasi licked her teeth as she watched Ra'kesh, grinning.

 

Kala stiffened momentarily –  _ hands on her shoulders –  _ but it was Ra'kesh, whose hands were safe.  She forced herself to relax as she firmly shook her head.

 

“No, it isn't.  Most Dwemer calcinators are damaged around the base.  She can get fifty thousand for it from a collector, or a Telvanni mage who doesn't answer to the Legion.  Twenty would be a fair markup for her trouble.”

 

“Twenty thousand drakes! Bah! Orc will have Habasi begging on the street,” said the Khajiit, making an impatient gesture.  Her tail had never moved throughout the conversation.  Sottilde gave her an incredulous look for just one instant, brown eyes wide.

 

“Thirty thousand seems to be more than reasonable profit to this one,” Ra'kesh said politely, removing his hand from Kala.  He felt her tense under his touch, but anyone would be nervous under these circumstances.  “He would guess that someone in Habasi's line of work will have no trouble finding a buyer.  It is as good as free gold to her.  Please accept the modest price of twenty, as well as an assurance that these ones will trust Habasi with other lucrative deals in the future.” He smiled, brows raised expectantly.

 

“New friends drive a hard bargain,” Habasi said mildly, flicking her earrings again.  “But she supposes she will spend such a great price, despite the difficulty of recouping it from surly dangerous Dunmer, because she likes Orc's pretty face and Ra'kesh is such a polite fellow.  Sottilde, go and get twenty thousand drakes for Habasi, there's a precious.”

 

Sottilde grinned and got up, whispering something in the Khajiit's ear as she looked slyly at them.  Habasi did not appear to react.  The human woman headed for an unobtrusive curtained doorway in the corner, well to the right of the door to the skooma den.

 

Kala tilted the calcinator to carefully nudge the knapsack from under it.  Twenty thousand was more drakes than she had ever seen in her life, and she did not fancy carrying it down the street in bags.  She would have to hide it under the bed or something until the Hlaalu bank in High Town opened tomorrow.  She had never had enough money to consider opening an account since she moved out of her parents' estate.  She had owned the house, and her alchemy had been enough for day-to-day expenses, and then she had spent any extra on preparing for her expedition or buying new spells.

 

Sottilde returned carrying four bags, two to each hand.  She moved as if they were heavy.

 

“He thanks you, friend Habasi.  A very wise and generous negotiator she is,” Ra’kesh said happily, watching Kala load the bags of gold into her knapsack with hungry eyes.  He had thought her exaggerating when she said that the calcinator was worth far more than the diamonds.  But twenty thousand! He was dizzy just thinking of all that gold.

 

Ra'kesh watched the other patrons of the bar from the corner of his eye.  It was not unthinkable that one of them might decide to stage an ambush outside for Kala's newly acquired wealth.  He stood up straighter, holding his ears and tail stiffly to project an air of bravado.

 

“Good evening, ladies.  This one looks forward to our next meeting.” Ra'kesh nodded to both Habasi and her friend when Kala had zipped up her bag.  He gestured for her to go out first.

 

Kala bowed politely to the two at the table, hands on her straps.  She didn't want to undermine Ra'kesh, so she didn't add another salutation to his as Habasi gaily waved them off, calling to a burly Nord to come and carry her prize.  She just turned and headed for the door, trying to walk slowly enough to not make it obvious she wanted to run.  She felt that they were watched, and was grateful for the tall presence of the Khajiit behind her.  More than one ruffian turned back to their drinks, muttering.

 

She breathed in the fresh air as they stepped outside, looking around quickly.  There was an upstairs door to the place, presently open to show a blaze of warm golden light against the gathering night.  The form of a tall man stood leaning there, head resting on the doorpost, the silhouette of a gracefully pointed ear suggesting an elf.  He did not move to follow them as they walked away.

 

Ra'kesh waited until they were well away from the Cornerclub, on the next street over.  A few drunks had loitered just outside but none appeared to follow them.  He exhaled loudly, his stoic posture collapsing as he leaned lightly against Kala's side.

 

“Twenty thousand drakes!” he whispered before bursting into crazed laughter.  He stood up straight again and glanced around the empty street for good measure- they were safe.  Everyone in that room was probably associated with the guild in some way.  It would not benefit them in the long run to molest one's own business partners.  He grinned at Kala from the side.

 

“I know,” she hissed back, leaning against him without thinking as she tried without success to smother a hysterical giggle.  It burbled up behind her hand.  “I've never  _ seen  _ that much money in one place! I don't think I'll sleep a wink until the bank opens tomorrow.  Are you going to deposit your half, too?”

 

She nudged him and hurried ahead toward her house.  It was full dark now, and she was glad to move toward the better-lit part of Labor Town by the river.  A mist was rising off the water, shortening visibility; the rare guard or pedestrian loomed through the fog like demons of the ancient world.

 

“I - I suppose so,” he stammered.  He had seen this much money in once place, but he'd never thought to store it in such a reputable place as a bank.

 

There was no way he could go get his skooma tonight.  A den of thieves were now aware that Kala had both Dwemer artifacts and a large amount of gold inside her home.  He could not rest easy until the lock had been upgraded.  Even then, they needed to get rid of the remaining artifacts fast.

 

“It is a pity we have no one to sell to directly,” he said, waiting as Kala unlocked the door with his back to the house, watching the street.  “Habasi will be making a small fortune off us if we sell the other things to her also.  Was Kala planning to do this?” He felt somewhat guilty that she had went against her morals on this matter.

 

“Good grief, I'm a criminal now.” She held the door for him to come in, then quickly locked it behind him.  She set the knapsack on the cutting table with the soft rattle-clank of bagged coins, then undid it to expose the four bags.  “No wonder so many people sell Dwemer artifacts.” She went to peer out the cloudy glass windows in turn, even though basically nothing much could be seen through the oblong green bubbles.

 

More than one person at the guild would probably suspect, but they would not ask her for the most part.  A new mage was driven to many extremes to make a living in an atmosphere of high competition, and everyone knew working for Ranys would involve things just as bad or worse.  She had hoped to avoid all of that.  The euphoria drained away as she recognized that her parents would be disappointed if they knew.  Her shoulders slumped slightly as she sat down at the cutting table.

 

“I hadn't thought it through,” she said, as she took two of the bags and set them on the table, nudging them toward him.  She opened one of the remaining ones to look inside.  Maybe it would turn out to be full of half rocks and half sand.  Nope.  All coins.  “I've heard there's someone in Pelagiad who will buy about anything Dwemer, but it's such a vague rumor – makes me think it might be a Legion trap.  I just don't know where else to look.  At least she didn't cheat us.  Didn't even try that hard… Yep.  Five thousand a bag, looks like.” She scooped what she judged to be about two thousand out into her purse and tied up the bag again, then stuck it back into the knapsack.

 

She leaned back in her chair, resting her hands on the tabletop as she looked at him.  “I greatly respect that you made it through that so well, by the way.  I could hardly stand the smell, it must have been torture for you.”

 

Standing on the other side of the table, Ra'kesh opened one of the bags to see the hoard for himself.  His whiskers twitched at the overpowering odor that seeped into the room, a sharp metallic tang only partially masked by the skin and grime of countless hands mixed together.  It was filthy, yet he had half a mind to dump the bags in the tub and roll in it.

 

The mirth faded from his eyes when Kala mentioned skooma, although his posture did not change.  He rolled a coin between his fingers, flipping it from dragon to emperor.  He wondered if the sculptor had rendered old Tiber faithfully or taken certain creative liberties to make him appear more kingly.

 

Other thoughts turned slowly through his mind.  He wanted skooma, badly, and yet...  he did not desire a return to that lifestyle one bit.

 

_ You can steal all their forks and use them to found your artifact-smuggling dynasty before you choke to death on skooma in the bowels of some wretched whorehouse somewhere.   _ She had said the words in anger, but it would inevitably happen.

  
  


It had been too long; the silence was becoming awkward.  Ra'kesh closed his eyes as if in great pain.  He clenched his hand around the coin and lowered it to the table.

  
  


“It is torture,” he spoke carefully, slowly meting out the words.  It was beyond difficult to admit his weakness.  “Ra'kesh must ask something of his friend that is not fair.  He cannot be trusted with this wealth.” He opened his eyes and waved a hand at the bags on the table.

  
  


“He will eat skooma if he can.  He would have already, but the seller was not there.” He was too ashamed to meet her gaze.  They were both adults, and she had her own problems to attend to.  It was already a blatant act of charity that she allowed him to remain in her house.  How could he ask her to be his keeper?

 

She lifted her eyes to his face as he stood silent for many seconds, looking at a coin.  It shocked and hurt her to see him as he then was, in a way that it had not when he was snarling in withdrawal, wheedling or threatening.  She stood up slowly and went around the table.

 

“I'm going to do something now that perhaps I ought not, Ra'kesh, and if it bothers you I will never do it again.”

 

She put her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly, the side of her face pressed into his shirt.  No excuses now; no berserk, no healing, no desperation.

 

“I am honored by your trust, and I will steward your drakes with great care.  My word as Nend.”

 

Ra'kesh stiffened against her touch.  His eyes darted wildly at nothing, unsure how to process what was happening.  The warmth of her against his chest was more than a simple touch - it did something to his innards.  A geyser eruption of pure emotion swelled within and crashed through his heart and every limb.  He nearly pulled away in shock.

 

_ One does not get this twice in a lifetime _ , an inner voice told him.   _ Do not throw it away. _

 

The wide-eyed Khajiit hesitantly brought his arms around her shoulders.  Slowly, his muscles relaxed, body melting into her embrace.

 

“He thanks you,” Ra'kesh said distantly.  His nose twitched at her hair just below his chin- a faint tinge of soap and something flowery overlaying her natural scent.  He loosened his arms from her shoulders, vaguely aware that friendly hugs were supposed to have some sort of time limit after which one was meant to pull away, but he didn't step back.

 

She felt him stiffen, then relax.  Kala held on for a moment longer than perhaps she should have, treasuring the solid warmth of his body.  Perhaps she would never be able to do it again, and selfish or not, wrong or not, she wanted to remember this in every detail.  There was a smell that fur had all to itself, dry like lint on a blanket, but softer, alive.  Even through his shirt she could smell it.  Her heart tried to climb her throat, stomach clenched tightly as she reminded herself to breathe.  It hurt.  She never wanted it to end.

 

She let go when she felt his arms loosen, face dark beneath the green.  It was hard to read his tone, but she felt that she had not done as she ought.  She turned her face upward, searching him with her eyes.

 

“You are a better man than the man I met,” she said.  “I wish that I could say the same.” Then she patted him gently around waist-level and went to put the money back into the knapsack.

 

“I'm sorry for the way I reacted at the Corner Club, when you touched me,” she said, without looking up from what she was doing.  “It's just – I have trouble forgetting that Altmer.  Charms can do things to your mind that stay with you.  I've heard that in High Rock the Bretons train against them from a young age, but I was never brave enough to try that with my guildmates.”

 

She had never trusted enough.  She had always suspected they would come up with something really stupid or terrible for the only Orc in the cohort to do while mired in that genial idiocy.

 

Ra'kesh let her step away even though his mind screamed not to let her go.  How he wanted to hold her tightly and rest his lips on the top of her head -

 

But already she was moving away and it was too late to go back to that moment.  He tilted his head, perplexed by her statement, until he remembered how tense she had seemed before.

 

“Oh..  Ra'kesh did not realize this still bothered you.  He should be the one apologizing.” His face fell.  Of course, idiot, he scolded himself.  Being a slave had hurt his pride terribly; he could not imagine the sheer horror of mental enslavement.  At the time he had not given it a second thought, only concerned with their survival.  It hurt him to know this had weighed on her all this time.

 

She waved a hand.  “There's nothing to apologize for.  You're not used to living with mages and all our vapors and so forth.”

 

“But, he wonders one thing...  When Kala was charmed, why did she decide to release Ra'kesh? This is clearly not what the Altmer intended when he said to take care of the problem.  Did she not have some level of free will to exercise choice?” He still held a puzzled expression, ears turned to the sides.


	18. Chapter 18

She stopped, one hand on the knapsack, and turned to look at him.  It was hard not to smile at the ears, but it was a question worthy of serious consideration.  Which was a good thing.  She was still waiting for her red corpuscles to return to a normal state, trying not to breathe too obviously as if she had been running.  She wanted to hold him and stroke his ears.  She wanted to drag him upstairs and  _ no no no no that is not appropriate.  The man has just trusted you with something big and important. _

 

“No, he wanted me to kill you,” she said.  “That's how I remember it when I can't avoid thinking about it.” She shuddered, but quelled it with an effort, frowning slightly as she thought.  “I've heard that it's harder to make a Charmed person do something they would really never do normally – you have to couch it in terms that make sense to the person.  Get them to freeze their friend by claiming that they're on fire, get them to stab someone by claiming they're really a daedra in disguise, things like that.” She set the knapsack in the corner with its fellow to wait for the morning and went to pour herself a glass of water.  Her mouth felt dry.

 

“I knew that you weren't insane or trying to hurt me,” she continued after a moment.  “Even when you were angry with me about the moon sugar you still managed not to attempt it.  So I went to the next possibility.  Really what happened was that the Altmer chose the wrong suggestion.  He assumed that I thought about you the way that  _ he _ would think about a slave.”

 

His brow furrowed in a deep frown while he considered her words.

 

“The elf did not consider that you are decent.  You did not betray your principles even under a powerful spell, so why must Kala say she is not a good person? Ra'kesh knows you are bothered by these 'stolen' artifacts.  Do not sell them, then.” He grimaced at the thought.   _ All that gold...   _ But it was important to her.  “They can be turned over to the proper persons.  We saved them from smugglers, this is true enough.”

 

Ra'kesh remembered the gold in his own pouch.  It was more than enough to buy skooma with so that would have to go too.  He carried the velvet back over and added it to the knapsack.  Whatever gold Kala had leftover from shopping would be enough to live on for the next few weeks.

 

“I.  Well.  Thank you.” She turned dark again.   _ Damn it.   _ She had a drink of water, turning her face away from him.

 

“But, but you're right about the others, the tubes and the drive shaft.  Will you come with me to the Fort tomorrow morning, after we go to the bank? I want to get it taken care of quickly.  The less time they're in this house, the better.”

 

She felt a bit ashamed that she still planned to keep the money, but what was done was done.  Habasi would laugh in their faces if they took it back and asked for the calcinator back now.

 

“You should keep the sword.  Dwemer weapons are so common that they sell them at the Fighter's Guild.  I don't think even a Legionnaire would look twice at it.” She had never understood why there was such a double standard about Dwemer weapons and armor as opposed to every other sort of Dwemer artifact, but it did appear to be the case.

 

She finished her water and set the cup in the sink.  She planned to keep the dishes as well.  He had given them to her, and they were pretty.

 

He sniffed, ears flicking backwards briefly.

 

“The sword was never up for returning.  Kala may have morals, but Ra'kesh does not,” he said.  Then he grinned, head tilted to the side.  “But yes, he will come.” She would need help carrying all of it and it would keep him out of trouble for the day.  He leaned back against the table, watching her as she moved in the kitchen.

 

Kala's reaction to his plea for help had lifted a weight off his shoulders, but new weights were being lowered in its place.  He was now sure that she thought of him as a friend and not a burden to be dealt with.  This made him inexplicably happy.  But it was suddenly sinking in what he had done.  He would not have skooma for a very long time.  Perhaps ever.  The idea of a permanently sober life filled Ra'kesh with dread.

 

Then there was that second weight, the one like a ball of lead in his chest.  He'd had little experience with this emotion in his life - not many women at sea, and the ones in port towns either had no interest in mangy pirates or had to be bought with gold - but he wasn't so stupid that he didn't know love when he felt it.  A swirling vortex of jumbled emotions still clouded his mind.  It would all have to be sorted later.

 

“Perhaps it is time for bed,” he said reluctantly, quite sure he would not be able to sleep.

 

She just grinned at his first statement.  It had been a surreal enough day.  It was something of a relief to hear him contradict her.  If they were going to lodge together he couldn't blandly accept all of her managing ways.

 

Kala rinsed the goblet and put it away as he spoke again.

 

“Go ahead.  I'm not tired, so I think I'll do some work on my monogram.” She could not even imagine sleeping.  She still did not trust herself not to dream, and now there was the money  _ and  _ the artifacts to worry about.  “I'm low on a lot of things now.  Day after tomorrow is going to be a day of much harvesting.  I'll have to take the guild guide out to Sadrith Mora and collect some saltrice and marshmerrow.”

 

Tomorrow she should be able to sleep easily, after a full day of walking and then learning a new spell the hard way.  For now, it was what it was.  She went to the bookshelves and began collecting the volumes she would need to refer to in order to contextualize her translation.

 

Ra'kesh gathered up his new things that he'd left on the table and started upstairs before he saw her pulling a book off the shelf.  He suddenly remembered the old book he had picked up in Drakan-Ka.

 

“Ra'kesh has something for Kala.  Wait a minute.” He disappeared up the steps and returned a moment later, arms now empty save for the book.  The plain cover was warped and discolored, leaving the brown leather mottled like diseased skin.  The thick yellow pages smelled unpleasantly of mildew.  He held the ragged thing out to Kala.

 

“It may be nothing of interest,” he added.  “It was among the bodies in the ruin.”

 

Kala accepted the book carefully, trying not to crack the brittle spine, and took it to lay gently on the alchemy table.  The title page was half gone, but the writing on the spine was in Cyrodilic.  The words  _ Of Veridael  _ could just be made out.

 

“Veridael stayed long enough to write a diary,” she murmured, turning to the first page.  She shook herself, looking up.  “Thank you, Ra'kesh.  This will be interesting even if it's not something I can use as a resource.  Maybe I can write him about it and drum up an excuse to talk to him in person.”

 

She turned the page.  Some of it was completely illegible, splotched and run from moisture and mildew until the words could not be made out.  The first readable entry was:

 

_ Day 3 _

 

_ This place is a bit larger than Engtelkhend.  ---- the control words by the front door.  I truly pity the poor soul who attempts to enter by the side passage, or who cannot read the Dwemer script.  There are things here which I suppose I should take away and bring to the Legion outpost at Dagon Fel, but they are much too –--- carry them so far, even with the most powerful of my Feather spells and my Strength fortification.  I shall carry away nothing ------ notes. _

  
  


She fumbled around for the chair and sat down, no longer aware of her surroundings.

 

He was glad that the book had been worth picking up after all.  Ra'kesh turned back to the stairs.

 

“Good night, Kala.” He paused, one foot on the bottom step and looked back at her.  She was too absorbed to reply.  He didn't really get what was so fascinating about words on paper - It was hard to imagine one could derive meaning from the odd, seemingly-random scribblings - but he'd known other people who acted the same.  Maybe the written words formed a voice in their minds that drowned out everything else.  He considered asking her to teach him to read.

 

Perhaps later.  She will be busy with her monogram, and Ra'kesh has asked enough favors for tonight.

 

He took a brief moment to study Kala's face.  Her yellow eyes flicked back and forth across the pages, unaware of his staring, lips drawn tight around her tusks as she concentrated.  He smiled at that and turned to softly pad upstairs before she could look up.  His tail brushed against the corner of wall and stairwell before slithering away behind him.

 

He decided to bathe.  It had been a while since he'd done anything other than splash some water on himself.  He disliked the loss of his fur's natural oils and the change in scent, as many Khajiit did, but when mixing with other races it helped to adopt their customs.  Or rather, this is what Ra'kesh told himself.  In actuality his disinterest in bathing was related more to his lifestyle than his race.

 

The warmth of the bath helped put him in a sleepy mood.  He was sure that once he climbed into bed, damp fur against dry sheets, he would be asleep soon, but his mind kept returning to Kala and the memory of her body against his.  Why did a simple, friendly touch have to feel so good? Ra'kesh squeezed his eyes shut and tried to forget.  It didn't work, but he did fall asleep in time.

 

It was a good twenty minutes before Kala realized he had spoken.  She raised her head to say  _ Good night, Ra'kesh,  _ but he was long gone.  She felt a pang, but nudged it gently away.  She was not so young as to go into transports of despair over loving someone who could not feel the same, she told herself, and made herself believe it as she went on reading.

 

The diary went on, frequently illegible, to describe the High Elf's journey deep into the ruin.  He had evidently been a fragile fellow, stopping to rest much more often than they had, and as a result spending much more time describing details of the walls and the light fixtures.  He had even kept track of the spider centurions, which apparently had number plates affixed to the rear of each one, noting that the ones that he saw varied by depth and they seemed to have their own little territories within the buried city.  She noticed that he was not, at this point, apparently ill.  His later account, such as it was, either filled in an omission there or deliberately editorialized; and she suspected the latter.  He had known the way quite clearly at this point.

 

When he came to the Engine of Greater Difference the account became less legible, writing gone spidery and irregular with excitement, but she was able to divine some measurements that agreed with her own.  He had explored the controls in similar detail, and had similarly experimented with things from his knapsack, identifying the “Living” and “Unliving” controls.

 

The important difference was that there had been no bandits in Drakan-Ka at that time.  Instead he had put a clipping from his own fingernail inside the machine.  The diary entry subsequent to the page where he declared his intent to do so began:

 

_ I'm afraid I entirely lost my senses for some moments.  The machine, you see, –---- a perfect replica of myself.  I use the term perfect advisedly, for I mean a replica of myself as I would be if I  _ were  _ perfect, having suffered no –------ or malnutrition; a tall and glorious Altmer whose Chimer ancestors –------------- him as they would of me. _

 

_ I awoke to find him leaning over me.  He carried me to my bedroll and –-------- revive me by chafing my sternum with his fist, a medical procedure quite lost to most ---------- this era.  He spoke to me in what I believe to be first-era Dwemer, then in one of the Chimer tongues, hesitantly, and asked -------- killed in the practice ring.  Apparently the machine recognized -------- similarity to their enemies and imprinted him with the readiness ---------- monstrous way. _

 

_ I have been attempting to explain to him -------------------.  He is not stupid, but his information is very limited.  He is completely unable to -------------- I say, and attempting to do so obviously causes him physical pain (I asked him to try). _

 

_ This machine could be used to create an army from a handful of hair.  No one must ever know of it.  I will return now to my home in Caldera, for I am feverish, and I have no potions left.  --------- with me.  I shall tell people that he is my cousin.  I am not sure what I ought to do with this diary.  Throw it into the lava well, perhaps.  No one must --------- _

  
  


And there the journal ended, or if it went on, it could not be read.  Kala sat staring at the page for a long moment.  Then she got up and retrieved her own notes on the machine from the jar marked  _ nirthfly _ and folded them into the mildewed tome.  She took it upstairs and hid it in the very back of the closet shelf under a box of shoes that had belonged to her brother.

 

Whatever he had found in Engtelkhend, he had never published it, and it had apparently not been so strange or terrible as the Machine.  Still, she needed to know.  At some point she would have to either write to him or go to Caldera and seek him out, or both.  It was a short trip by guild guide.

 

She spent the rest of the night making potions, occasionally glancing suspiciously at the door when she heard voice or feet in the street outside.  No one tried to break in.  The time passed faster than she expected, and by the end of it she had a good stack of fatigue restoratives to keep her alert.  She refilled her potion belt and went to wash and change, hauling the knapsack upstairs to the bathroom with her, just in case.  Leaving it close to the front door seemed like tempting fate.

 

Ra'kesh flounced downstairs freshly groomed and arrayed in his new clothes, Dwemer shortsword and axe at his side.  The remaining potions given to him by Kala were tucked away in the little pouch of his new belt.  He'd woken in an unusually good mood.  He could hear movement in the bathroom; Kala must have recently awoke.  He headed to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

 

His nose homed in on the sweetrolls immediately after opening the cupboard.  Ra'kesh purred happily while preparing two plates of bread slathered in scrib jelly with scuttle on the side.  He sized up the sweetrolls with a critical eye and plopped the two he deemed largest onto the plates, licking the glaze from his fingers afterward.  He placed the plates on the table with a flourish, then twirled on his toes to pour water in two heavy Dwemer goblets.  When the table was fully set he froze - a pack was missing from the wall.  There was no scent of an intruder and nothing else had been touched...

 

He stood at the mouth of the stairwell and called up with more curiosity than alarm.

 

“Kala was not burgled in the night, yes? The bags are upstairs?”

 

Kala was braiding her hair in front of the mirror, yawning.  She paused to dab cold water under her eyes.  Maybe the smudges would go away.  She turned at the sound and stuck her head out of the bathroom door to call back down,

 

“It's up here.  I was paranoid about leaving it near the door.  I'll be right down!”

 

She came downstairs about a minute later, dressed in a dark green outer robe and her potion belt, lugging the knapsack full of money bags and Dwemer relics.  Her stomach growled at the scent of scrib jelly, and she cleared her throat to cover the noise.

 

“Oh good, you found the sweet rolls.  Those need eating up so they don't go stale,” she said cheerfully, setting the bag down and hauling the chair from the alchemy table over to the cutting table to sit.

 

Ra'kesh's sweetroll was nothing more than a circular smudge on his plate and a sweet memory by now.  He dutifully ate his bread with scuttle on top even though he'd prefer a second pastry.

 

“Did you sleep well?” he asked suspiciously, eyeing her sideways.  It looked as if she'd stayed up far too late, lost in her work again.

 

She was eating neatly, as she always did, but with a good appetite.  She paused to lick scrib jelly from her fingers before she answered.

 

“Oh, I didn't really sleep.  I just wasn't tired.” She shot him a sidelong look.  “Don't look at me that way, I'll sleep really well tonight.  We're going to have a busy day.”

 

“It is not normal to sleep every other day,” he said between bites.  “Kala will be seeing things again if she keeps it up.” He used the last piece of bread to mop up a tiny amount of sugary glaze left over from the roll, then pushed the plate aside and rested his forearms on the table while waiting for her to finish as well.

 

“I know it isn't normal,” she said, in between bites, stifling the irritable urge to glare at him.  “I don't expect it to last.” She paused to have a drink of water.  “And we won't be walking ten miles up and down a Dwemer ruin today, trust me.  I'll be fine.”

 

She gathered up her dishes and went to the sink to wash them, pushing up her sleeves.  “I want to go to the bank first, then out to the Fort.  It's a long walk, probably six or seven miles.  Then I'll Recall us back here and go get my spell from the Guild.  I may need to sleep there, so it'll be up to you if you bunk up in the Guildhall or come back home.  The spell I want will have to be learned the hard way.  I need to do something about Veridael, but it will have to wait a couple of days.  I don't know what his situation is now.”

 

She put the dishes away and went to get the knapsack, downing a purple dot potion.  The gold and artifacts were not lighter than the calcinator.  Heavier, if anything.  Her face softened as she looked back at him, then quickly away.

 

“Paid or not, since we met you have acted like a bodyguard,” she said quietly.  “Every time something has attacked us, you have thrown yourself directly between me and it.  I need a spell powerful enough to kill, but refined enough that I can target on just one creature.  I don't want what happened with the clannfear to happen again.”

 

She tightened her straps and went to unlock the front door.

 

“That means a custom, because I know Estirdalin does not have one in her own stock.”

 

“A good idea,” he said simply and followed her out.  He was worried about how the absorption would affect her.  Learning a new skill was never easy, but mages had to take everything to extremes.  Still, it was never a bad thing to have better defenses.

 

“Pass the bag to Ra'kesh when the potion runs out, yes? Hard work lugging supplies and fighting bandits has made him strong!” He flexed an arm playfully, which indeed was slightly bigger than before.  He still had a long way to go.

 

It was a cool morning.  The cobblestone beneath his pads were damp from dew, but a cloudless sky indicated the day would turn warm when Magnus fully rose.

 

“By the way, was there anything in Veridael's journal? It sounds like you decided to meet with him after all.”

 

She blinked, startled, at the fuzzy bicep in front of her nose.   _ Did that just happen? _

 

After a second she managed to collect herself enough to lock the door, eyes still big.  “I uh.  Yes, thanks.  I will.  He found the Engine, all right.  He put a fingernail in and it - ” She stopped, looking around.  The street was busy with people heading for work in the sunrise, steam rising from the river.

 

“I want to talk to him about what he found and what he decided.”

 

She turned left, then left again to head up the hill toward High Town.  Her legs felt better than they had in a few days, even going up the slope.  Some of the soreness was wearing off.

 

High Town was already busy with people in fine clothes bustling to and fro, some important folk, more the servants of those important folk.  A few bracers were in evidence, but more of those carrying bags and baskets were without them, freemen and freewomen who had been paid to serve Hlaalu families.  Kala and Ra'kesh's common clothing gathered an occasional curious glance, but a few people in ordinary garb did make their way here.  It was not so very strange.

 

Past Nalcarya's shop the street broadened out into a plaza.  A fountain played in the center of the circular space, making a tranquil sound in the quiet morning.  The statue of Azura poured water from a jar beneath one arm.  Her other hand held a combined icon of a moon and a star.  Past the fountain rose the Hlaalu bank, sturdy clay pillars painted with the ornate script that identified the building's purpose.  Kala headed for the portico, trying not to look like she was panting.

 

Ra'kesh looked at her in puzzlement.  He would have to ask again later in private.  Whatever Veridael discovered, it must not have been good.  And why leave his journal behind unless he left in a hurry? He chewed on these questions silently for most of the journey to High Town until they passed the Temple- he couldn't help but notice a guard was posted outside the courtyard on the hilltop.  Ra'kesh quietly moved to Kala's other side.  Several people had seen a panting Khajiit with a bloody axe yesterday.

 

And here he was, on his way to help deposit an obscene amount of gold at the bank.  So much for laying low.  He wondered whether Saw-Them-Fall had a writ for Tiras, as she had for his employer.  That she ran afterward implied she did not.

 

Ra'kesh stepped in front of Kala to hold the door open for her and followed inside.  The high-ceilinged bank was unusually well lit with silver candelabras on every table and paper lanterns hanging from the rafters at regular intervals.  A raised platform in the center of the room was tastefully decorated with purple horn lily and stoneflowers, along with others Ra'kesh could not identify.  Possibly they were not native to the region.  Sections of the room were partitioned off with paper screens for the privacy of clients and tapestries depicting various saints, including the Tribunal, lined every wall.  The Hlaalu were not ones for modesty; the décor was clearly meant to flaunt their wealth.

 

A long reception table lay on the far side of the room past the platform, three chairs on either side of it.  Behind this table to the left and right were heavy reinforced doors which probably led to the vaults.  A helmed guard between the doors stared impassively at them.  One of the doors swung open to reveal a Dunmer woman in a matching black and gold velvet blouse and skirt.  Large jeweled earrings dangled from her ears, clearly visible with her black hair pulled into a high bun.

 

The mer's eyes quickly moved from Kala to Ra'kesh and a warm smile spread across her face.  The door clicked shut behind her and she nodded to them both, gesturing towards the seats in front of them.

 

“I greet you with three blessings, Muthseras.  I am Verisa Tharandys.  Please tell me how I can be of service today.” She pulled out a chair on the other side of the table for herself and waited for them to sit.

 

Kala proceeded to sit down, easing the knapsack off her back.   Ra'kesh seated himself beside her.   She had managed not to gawk like an idiot as they came in, mostly because her father had banked here when she was a child.  It was, if anything, not as huge as she remembered.  She gave the floral arrangement a mildly interested glance, then turned her attention to the Dunmer in front of her with a polite nod.

 

“Good morning, Sera,” she said.  “I would like to open an account.” She reached into the knapsack and began removing sacks to set them on the table.  “Alchemy has been proving more lucrative than I expected, and I really don't feel comfortable keeping this much money in my house.”

 

The bags clinked invitingly as they came to rest on the tabletop.

 

The woman's eyes widened only slightly at the bulging sacks being placed on the table.  Her smile never wavered.  Beside her on the table were a stack of forms and a quill; she pulled a paper from the top of the pile and laid it in front of her.

 

“I see.  Yes, I certainly wouldn't feel comfortable with this much gold in my house! You were very wise to come.  We personally guarantee the safety of our client's assets.  Our state of the art locks are magickally trapped and the vaults guarded at all hours.  However, we do offer insurance at an additional fee.” The last part was added with no special inflection to differentiate it from the rest of her spiel, and she continued forward cheerfully without missing a beat.  “Now, what is the name the account will be under?”

 

She tried to remember if her Da had bought the insurance option.  She didn't  _ think  _ that he had.

 

“Kala gra-Nend,” she said.  “But I would like it to pass to another person if anything should happen to me.  Is that something I should handle here, or in a will filed with my Guild?”

 

Her life had become startlingly hazardous of late.  If she  _ did  _ die, she wanted to make sure Ra'kesh could get his money, or that someone who could take care of it for him could.  She doubted she could convince him to go to her family, though she was sure they would take him in gladly enough.  Dra'viji had been part of the family for ages now, and they had done their best even for poor Zharra; and Ra'kesh had done more for her in their short acquaintance to date than she thought Zharra had probably done for anyone, ever.

 

She would write her mother about it, she decided.  One of these afternoons.  Someone ought to be told so that he didn't just fall through the cracks and perish in a skooma den if she cast Poison too close to a wall or something.

 

“We have paperwork for that,” Tharandys answered.  She waved the guard over to take the gold back to the vault, explaining that it would be counted later for their records.  He hefted the bags easily.  In short order the Dunmer produced all of the necessary forms and arrayed them in front of the Orc, large X's indicating the spots to be signed.

 

“Write the name, address, and guild or employer of your inheritor here.” Tharandys tapped a finger on the form.  “You can also specify multiple persons and a percentage of what they should receive if you wish.”

 

Ra'kesh watched the proceedings anxiously.  He could demand his share of the gold and run off to South Wall right now if he wanted - but once the papers were signed, that was it.  He sat very still, holding his breath when the woman handed Kala a quill and slid the inkpot across the table.


	19. Chapter 19

“Perfect.  Thank you.” Kala glanced at the guard with only mild curiosity as she dipped the quill.  She felt a certain amount of envy at how easily he hauled it all away.  Presumably he spent all day dragging around bags of drakes.

 

She spent a few minutes filling out the forms and signing them.  She specified on the inheritance form that ten thousand drakes with any interest of that sum were to go to Ra'kesh, address her own house, no guild, and the remainder to Belhak gra-Nend, address Nend Plantation, Suran, Fighter's Guild (Retired).  She signed patiently and with a fine, even script.

 

“If anything happens to me, they'll be looking for you at the house,” she said to Ra'kesh.  “I'll write my mother and let her know, so they'll know to expect you when they come to clean out my things.  They're not unkind people.” When she was younger she would have felt a thrill of fear and uncertainty at the idea of her own death.  Now she understood better why her parents always spoke of these preparations so calmly.  It was just one more thing that would one day happen.  Yes, it was horrifying to think that she would one day end, or pass on to Aetherius or, perhaps to the Ashpit, she was not entirely sure; either way it would be a permanent end to things as she had known them.  But that was a mundane horror, an ordinary fear, a thing common to everyone.  To understand its universality was to defang the beast.

 

Kala signed by the last X and passed the papers back.

 

Tharandys signed one of the forms herself and passed it back to Kala.  She collected the others in a tidy little pile and stood.

 

“This is your proof of identity for making withdrawals and deposits.  Be assured that your gold is safe with us.” She bowed respectfully, the genial smile still plastered across her face.  “Good day to you both.”  

 

Kala bowed politely to Tharandys and turned to accompany Ra'kesh toward the door.  Ra'kesh forced an uncomfortable chuckle at Kala's words as he stood as well.  He picked up the knapsack and shouldered it himself.  The loss of the gold had lightened it significantly but the Dwemer components inside were still too much for him without the assistance of a potion.  He downed the last purple from his own stash.

 

“He doubts very much that anything will happen to you before himself, but this is good to know.” He waited until they were close to the door, well out of earshot of the returned guard, before turning to her.  Tharandys had whisked herself away to file the papers.

 

“Ra'kesh thanks you again for what you are doing,” he said.  His tone and expression were earnest, but touched with uncertainty.  “He will find some way to repay his friend.”

 

Kala did not argue with his taking up the pack.  The weight had been heavy, and they still had far to go.  She rolled the identity paper tightly as she walked, tied it with a bit of thread from her sleeve, and placed it in the pouch where she kept her money.

 

She looked up at Ra'kesh as he stopped.  It was strange to see him thus.  The Khajiit she had first met had been unable to admit the slightest weakness of any kind.  Now she touched his arm briefly, grinning.

 

“Don't thank me yet.  Next week you find out Iron Tooth has stolen all your gold and used it to build a house of ill repute in Vivec.” She almost said  _ with a daedric shrine in the basement,  _ but it wasn't safe to joke about that around some Dunmer, and she didn't fancy being hauled away by Temple goons on suspicion of worshiping Malacath.

 

“Come on.  It's a long walk to Moonmoth Legion Fort.”

 

He snickered.

 

“When wealth is ill-gotten, one cannot complain when he is robbed in turn.”

 

The walk from town was pleasant despite the burden on his back.  Ra'kesh was relieved to pass out of the Southern gate and be away from the guards.  He'd always preferred the solitude and beauty of the wilderness over the city crowds in any case.

 

The temperature rose with the sun as the pair chatted leisurely, stopping here and there if Kala noticed a useful plant along the path.  Ra'kesh began to ache halfway through, but it was no longer the painful ache of the infirm.  It had become a satisfying burn heralding the formation of new muscle.

 

Ra'kesh once resented being tethered to this mage and now he could think of no place he'd rather be than by her side.  If only he could make this last forever...  getting clean would only help.  This thought gave him the strength to push away thoughts of skooma when they surfaced.

 

A crenelated wall loomed over the horizon, red flags bearing the icon of Akatosh draped over the sides.  Ra'kesh supposed this was the fort.  He'd taken great care to avoid such places in his old life.

 

Kala rejoiced in the warmth of the sun as they walked.  So much had changed since first time she had walked out of Balmora with Ra'kesh.  Now she was free of the weight of the guilt of ownership, free of that conflict of being unable to trust him and completely sympathizing with the reasons why he could not be trusted.  The morning turned into early afternoon as they walked on, and she treasured the open air and the sound of the river off to their left.  Now she talked with him as an equal, and it was a joy and a pleasure to do so.  She was tired from the long walk, but it was almost a disappointment to see Fort Moonmoth appear in the distance up ahead.

 

As they drew nearer she was able to make out a pair of Imperials in steel armor standing on guard to either side of the great archway that led into the courtyard.  The gates were open in daylight, and as they approached an empty cart was on its way out, driven by a Dunmer.  He paid them no attention at all as he urged on his guar back toward Balmora.  The guards watched them approach, tall and gleaming behind their red-plumed helmets.  They were almost identical in height and build.  Maybe they recruited them based on their ability to fit the armor, Kala thought dryly.

 

“Good afternoon, Sirs,” she said as they approached, using the Cyrodilic greeting rather than the Dunmer one.  “I have Dwemer artifacts to surrender to the custody of the Legion.  Where should we go?”

 

“Afternoon, Ma'am,” said the man on the left, voice echoing slightly inside his visor.  There was no discussion between them.  Perhaps he was the higher-ranking of the two.  “The first door on your left as you go in leads to the Fort's cultural liaison.  He'll guide you through the process.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, and walked in under the arch.  The Fort loomed high around the courtyard, walls thick enough to hold many rooms and corridors.  A stairway to the battlements led upward ahead of them, and wooden doors lined the lower wall at intervals.  Kala turned to the left, toward a wooden door with a small plaque next to it that said  _ Office of Cultural Liaison. _

 

The office turned out to be a rather small room with a desk in the center and bookshelves lining every wall.  The shelf space had been filled completely with books, but also statuettes, Dunmer pottery, and small potted plants that appeared to be on their last leg.  This had not stopped the owner from acquiring more; the overflow of books were stacked on the floor, making it difficult to maneuver inside the tiny space.  The desk too was completely crowded with towers of books and odd junk.  Atop a stack of yellow papers were several jam tarts.  There was no plate and the papers beneath were stained red.

 

Ra'kesh thought the room devoid of life at first, but something shifted from behind the mess.  A rotund wood elf with puffy cheeks leaned to the side and grinned at them.  There was jam in his sandy beard.

 

“Hello! Come in, come in!” he said in a nasally, but friendly voice.  There was one other chair besides his own, but it did have books in it.  Ra'kesh lowered the knapsack and leaned it against the open doorway.  He was afraid that lugging the large thing into the room would result in something being knocked over.

 

Kala stared at the beard as if hypnotized for a moment.

 

“I… uh…” She shook her head quickly.  “Sorry, Serjo, we've come to surrender some Dwemer artifacts.  I found them on a research trip.  Are… are we in the right place? This is the Office of Cultural Liaison?”

 

“Indeed you are Sera.  I am Gaerildin, pleased to make your acquaintance.” He hurriedly shoveled the books out of the free chair, depositing them onto another pile, then turned to Ra'kesh.  He moved between the stacks with ease despite his size.

 

“Are they in this bag? May I see?” He stepped forward without waiting for a response.  Ra'kesh unzipped the knapsack for him and Gaerildin's face lit with enthusiasm.  He pulled a pair of thick metal-framed spectacles from his breast pocket and held them to his face while he pulled items from the bag, inspecting each for a moment with short exclamations of joy before laying them on the floor.

 

“I can't profess to be an expert on the Dwemer, but I am sure these wonderful specimens will be of great help to those that are.  Where did you say they were found? Certainly not in any of the ruins nearby.  Their condition is far too excellent.” He turned back towards Kala, folding his glasses and replacing them in the pocket.

 

She had to smile at his enthusiasm.  It was a rare enough thing to see, even if he didn't realize that he was holding thirty thousand drakes' or so worth of ancient history.  The drive shaft was indeed pristine, and only one of the tubes was cracked in the slightest.

 

“They were found in Dagon Fel,” she said.  “I went there to research the instructional plaques found in Drakan-Ka.  I found some really useful new words, too, I think it will make things much safer for other scholars.” She let some of her own excitement creep into her tone, the thing that she had felt before all of this, the thing that had left her in the bowels of the ancient city.  “The ruin was sufficiently extensive that we were both exhausted by the time we found them, so we Recalled back instead of walking to the Legion offices there.  I regret it, but I can't say I would do it differently.  Neither of us was in a condition to walk twenty miles, especially after we ran into the bandits that were hoarding these.”

 

She thought she did it quite creditably.  It was the truth, after all, just not the  _ whole  _ truth.

 

Gaerildin rummaged around for a blank scrap of paper while Kala spoke and scribbled out a quick note so the location would not be forgotten.

 

“Oh, it's just as well you brought them here.  They would have to be shipped out of Dagon Fel anyway, and you know the scoundrels paid to transport wouldn't have handled them as respectfully as I'm sure you have.  Oh!” He threw down the quill suddenly, leaving ink to seep onto the paper, and checked multiple drawers in his desk until he found what he was looking for.  Neither Ra'kesh nor Kala could see, but the clinking of gold could be heard as he counted out drakes into a small bag.  He stood when finished and held the bag over the desk towards Kala.

 

“We do pay for artifact surrenders.  It's only fifty gold, a pittance compared to their actual worth.  No more in the budget, I'm told.  There's certainly enough in the budget for new armor every year! Bah!” He shook his head in disgust, but the expression shifted back to cheerful a moment later.  “What did you say your name was? I'd love to read your account of the ruin if you plan to publish.”

 

She accepted the bag politely, suppressing an urge to cackle maniacally at the fact that she was already carrying more than two thousand.

 

“Thank you, Serjo, every bit helps.  I'm Kala gra-Nend.  This is my bodyguard and research assistant, Ra'kesh.  I never would have survived the trip without him.” It was just as well to have their names on record as having surrendered the artifacts  _ before  _ the book was published, in case anyone was inclined to ask.   Ra'kesh nodded to the elf when his name was spoken.  Gaerildin wrote down this information as well after dabbing at the ink spot with a stained handkerchief.

 

“Oh, and I'll bring you a copy, but I'm afraid it's really just a translation monogram,” she said.  “The ruin itself has never been fully mapped, and given the local conditions, I have to say that I suspect it never will be.  The lower levels are very unstable and dangerous.  Certainly I would not try to go back there without a full mastery of levitation, and no doubt you are aware of how difficult that is.  Certainly well beyond the powers of one ranked at Wizard.”

 

Oh, she could  _ buy  _ the spell at any time – today, if she wished – but she wouldn't be able to reliably  _ cast  _ it without a great deal more expertise in Alteration.

 

That was something to think about, actually.  It might be a relief after what she was probably going to go through to get the custom spell.

 

“That's unfortunate.  Still, I look forward to reading it.” He bustled past Ra'kesh and leaned out of the open doorway.  “Lucan! Iliadus! Get over here and make yourselves useful!” He stepped back inside and grinned at them.  “We'll have these boxed up shortly, with great care I assure you.  Thank you for your contribution to the Empire and have a most wonderful day!”

 

Ra'kesh re-zipped and donned the now empty pack and gladly stepped out of the cramped office.  The two guards from earlier were on their way over.

 

Kala bowed for the third or fourth time that day, fingertips pressed together in the traditional mages' salute.

 

“Thank you, Serjo, and to you.” She followed Ra'kesh out gladly enough, rid of the weight of too much gold and too much Dwemer brass.  “Well, that's over with, praise the Nine.  Are you ready to Recall home so I can get to the Guild today?” She held out her arm.

 

“Gladly,” he said, laying a hand on her forearm.  A mage was certainly a handy friend to have.  The sound of Gaerildin passionately ordering around the men in his squeaky voice faded away as the house in Balmora materialized around them.  Ra'kesh released Kala's arm and shrugged off the knapsack to lay it against the wall.

 

“Hmm.  What should he do with himself the rest of the day?” he wondered aloud.

 

Kala stretched her arms in front of her, popping her elbows.  She did not relish the walk back uphill to the Guild, but at least it would be shorter than the trip to the fort.

 

“You could practice the lute.  It sounded nice that time you played it for me.  Or you could go with me back to the Guild, but that's going to be pretty boring with or without a musical instrument.  Or you could eat the sweetrolls and take a nap.  Or you could go to the Fighter's Guild and join up, see what their beginner jobs are.  I'll bet they're actually a lot easier than what you've been doing lately.”

 

She went over to the sink to damp down the loose strands around her braid as she talked.  She hated for Estirdalin to see her looking disheveled even if she couldn't help looking weak when the spell transfer was done.

 

“Eating sweetrolls is the preferred choice,” he said with a sigh.  “But visiting the Guild is more productive.  He will do this.” Although he suspected Kala would want to be off soon, he sat down for a moment to rest his tired legs.

 

“What about locking the door? Ra'kesh can pick it when he comes home, but this may look odd to the neighbors,” he said as an afterthought.

 

“Oh, blast.  I'd forgotten.” Kala rubbed her eyes with the fingers of one hand, trying to get the itchy, sandy feeling out.  Things were starting to get that feeling of reeling close and far away again whenever she stood still, the world swinging around her.  “I suppose I'd better go and see Celirius before I go to the Guild, get all that straightened out.  Yes.  I'll do that first.  Do you mind coming along? Then you can take your key when you go to the Guild and get back in whenever you like.”

 

“Yes, he will go.” Ra'kesh reluctantly pushed himself from the chair.  Sitting had felt so good.

 

It seemed odd to him that Kala would just give him a key to her house.  The original plan was to stay with her until the Dwemer artifacts were sold.  They were gone now, so he had no excuse to stay, other than without access to his own money he was dependent on her for the time being.

 

_ He will be able to pay proper rent working for the Fighters Guild _ , Ra'kesh told himself, heading for the door.

 

Kala followed him out, locked the door, and headed up the hill toward the poorer section of Labor Town.  The houses nearer the river were not rich and ornate, but they were solid and well-kept.  Further up the hill the houses were smaller, plastered more cheaply and then cracked and weathered.  Kreshweed grew up unhindered in the street.  A few ragged children of various species chased a young guar across their path as they went.  Kala turned right a few blocks up, panting, and headed for an unassuming house close to the corner guard tower.  A small, tattered banner beside the front door said  _ Locks  _ in Cyrodilic and the Dunmer script.

 

She knocked.  “Celirius! It's Kala! We went to school together? You said you might fix my lock?” She stepped quickly to one side of the door, motioning Ra'kesh to do the same.

 

“He's a little jumpy,” she whispered, by way of explanation.

 

Ra'kesh stepped back, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

“Mages must always have some peculiarity to distinguish themselves from common folk,” he said.

 

Kala snorted.  “You don't know the half - ”

 

The door slammed open, inexplicably outward instead of inward, and a knobbly wooden staff emerged, flailing about haphazardly.  After a moment of hostile burglars failing to appear the staff was withdrawn, and a skinny Imperial appeared in the doorway, looking around warily.  His skin was pale enough to suggest he never went outside.  His brown hair hug ragged around shoulder level and looked as though he probably cut it himself, possibly with a kitchen knife.  He squinted at the afternoon sun.

 

“Wha?” he said.

 

Kala waved to attract his attention.  “It's Kala, do you remember me?”

 

Ra'kesh jumped back, ears snapping forward at the bizarre entrance.  The man seemed harmless enough upon examination, but only a fool would think any mage “harmless.”

 

“Good day,” he said politely when Kala introduced him.  Looking at the man's hair, Ra'kesh considered how annoying it must be to have fur which continually grew and required the help of another to control.

 

“Oh, Kala.  Right.  The Orc with the Dwemer fixation.  Did you always have a Khajiit following you, or is he not real?”

 

She eyed him.  “Um… No, and he is definitely real.  This is Ra'kesh.  Ra'kesh, this is Celirius, who I'm guessing has been drinking his own potions again but has not gotten any better at alchemy than when we were acquainted previously.”

 

“Harsh,” Celirius grinned, and waved at Ra'kesh sheepishly.  “Okay, what do you want?”

 

“I need a new lock for my house...”

 

\---

 

Augustus Hodge stood facing the hearth, satin gloved hands clasped behind him, the dancing flames reflected in his dark eyes.  His chestnut hair was pulled back in a short ponytail.  Grey hairs had begun to grow on the sides of his head above his ears, betraying his age.

 

The door clicked open and shut once behind him.  He did not turn, but knew very well it was a Redguard woman who pulled out a chair at the table behind him.  Her Dreugh armor creaked as she moved.  A heavy carapace formed the breastplate, but her legs and arms were covered in more pliable leather made from the rest of the creature's hide.  Her forearms and thighs were fortified with the bony plates of the Dreugh's limbs and fingerless leather gloves extended from beneath the bracers.  She wore no helm, but carried a heavy shield made from a Dreugh's giant claw, which was now leaning against her chair.  The hilt of the ebony longsword at her side gleamed in the firelight, a thin veneer of magicka twisting the colors in a unique way.

 

She was a beautiful woman of flat nose and narrow eyes, despite two short scars across the left side of her protruding lips.  She shaved her head periodically.  It had grown out a few centimeters now.

 

She poured liquid from a bottle into a silver goblet before thumping it down against the table.

 

“Is something the matter, Aggy?” The woman's dark voice showed no trace of concern.  He turned to her, revealing a long, clean-shaven face that tapered into a narrow chin.  His features and overall demeanor gave the impression of one who was gentle and honest- a straight nose which pointed down, lips that curved into a neat Auriel's bow, and well kept eyebrows.  His lower eyelids puffed out slightly.  When he spoke he was calm; he rarely rose his voice or acted out of anger.

 

A ball of paper was crumpled in the palm of his hand.  She snatched the ball from the air automatically when Augustus tossed it to her, then unfolded it to read the short message.  One thin eyebrow barely raised in reaction.

 

_ Your friend Ra'kesh is in Balmora.  Will pursue. _

_ -Tiras _

 

“Tiras has not returned,” he said simply, letting her draw her own conclusions.  She laid the note on the table.

 

“He might be staking him out,” she offered with a shrug.

 

“Possibly.  It's hard to imagine Ra'kesh posing much of a threat to anyone but himself.  All the same, I think you had better head to Balmora.  A cornered rat bites the hardest.  Take Waduuya with you.  Tiras always stays at the Eight Plates; You can meet with him there, if he's alive.”

 

She grimaced, tongue tip darting between her parted teeth as if tasting something sour.  It was the first real display of emotion she had shown since entering.

 

“That frog-faced idiot? What did I do to deserve this punishment? I think I can handle that bag of bones by myself.” Her tone was initially excited but she calmed by the time she had finished.

 

“You will go now,” Augustus responded evenly.  “And use the Mage's Guild.”

 

“Sure thing, Aggy.  See you soon.” She pushed herself from the chair with a leathery creak and snapped a mocking salute before picking up her shield and leaving the way she came.

 

Augustus drained the glass of brandy she had poured and tossed the paper into the fire.

  
  


\---

 

“Right! Say no more! Locksmithy performed at all hours rates very reasonable we aim to please,” he chanted, and dove back inside to come out with a worn carpet bag.  He tugged the door shut behind him, locked it with a key he produced from a sleeve with a deft sleight-of-hand motion, and turned to face them both with a happy grin.  Then he winced and hurriedly flipped his hood up over his head.  “Ah, Magnus, my old nemesis.”

 

Behind him, the door glowed green and then purple for a moment, then faded.  Kala watched it carefully until it had stopped, then turned to head home.  “It's this way.”

 

He spent several minutes kneeling in front of Kala's door, fiddling and muttering.  He cast several spells that Kala did not recognize.  The flavor of them was Alteration, she felt the little aura of each; but they were particular to their maker, probably known to no one else.  Spellmaking without assistance was a difficult skill to master, and she was not surprised that Celirius had done it; he was an expert in his own areas of interest, but barely competent at anything else.  He had been that way as long as she'd known him.

 

“All right,” he said at one point, looking around.  “How many keys?”

 

“Two,” Kala said firmly, without looking at the Khajiit.  “Ra'kesh is staying with me until he gets on his feet, you know.  Being a freedman is a hard thing at first.”

 

“Oh, so it is.  Congratulations to you.” He waved a hand at Ra'kesh as he dug out a couple of key blanks with the other.  “So you're not married?”

 

Ra'kesh winced inwardly at being called a freedman, the muscles of his face tensing just slightly.  He did not have time to formulate a reply before the implication of Celirius's next statement invaded his mind.

 

His tail jerked roughly as if it had been stepped on.

 

“ _ Vath _ ! Er, no, of course not.  Why would he think this? Orc and Khajiit are odd pairing, no? Not to say Kala would not make a fine wife to one of a scholarly persuasion, as Kala would wish, he is sure...” He trailed off awkwardly, aware that he had rambled when a simple “no” was sufficient.  He lowered his hands which had somehow managed to rise to his chest.

 

“It's not that odd,” said Celirius, blowing on the key blank.  It glowed purple and began to gently reshape itself, the metal crawling and changing like putty.  He seemed oblivious to having said anything gauche.  “My aunt married an Argonian.  And she's an Imperial, so, you know.  Still fairly different.”

 

Kala bit her tongue against the words  _ but we all know about Imperials, don't we _ .  She had said something wrong to begin with, and it was probably the word  _ freedman;  _ perhaps the Khajiit didn't want to be reminded publicly that he had been a slave.  His squirming discomfort at Celirius' cavalier suggestion was less surprising to her.  She had known all along that the way she felt could never be returned.   _ A thief who can jump twice her height, I tell you.  Litters of stripey kittens. _

 


	20. Chapter 20

“Oh, I shouldn't think I would marry a scholar,” Kala said, quite calmly, as if it was not another twist of the knife in her gut.  “Mages do marry each other occasionally, but it's not an invariable rule.  It's not accidental that the two Guilds are so close together, you know.  So they say.”

 

“Fighters,” sighed Celirius.  “Don't remind me.  Wayn sent my last letter back.  Said he doesn't want to see me again after the thing I said about his brother.   _ I  _ didn't know the man was an Azuran.”

 

“Oh yes, religion,” Kala said glumly.  “That's always another lovely topic.”

 

“The thing is, I really don't care, but how can I apologize if he won't read my letters?”

 

“You could go talk to him,” Kala said.

 

Celirius shot her a startled look as he inserted the new key into the lock.  It clicked cleanly and perfectly as he turned it.  He turned to hand it to Ra'kesh as he blew on the second one.

 

“I suppose.  It's a bit of a walk.  Do you want the door trapped as well? Just fifty drakes more, poison anybody who tries to pick it.”

 

“Yes, please,” Kala said.

 

He handed the second key to her and set about tapping on various parts of the door, little green blooms of power appearing around his fingers before soaking into the wood and vanishing.

 

Ra'kesh fumed silently at his own stupidity while he listened to the conversation.  Then his ears perked.

 

“Wayn is of the Fighters Guild?” he interrupted.  “Ra'kesh was heading there after this.  He intends to apply.  Khajiit could deliver the letter again, unless an association with Celirius bodes poorly for his acceptance.” He chuckled to himself, failing to consider that a man with low social awareness might not get the joke.

 

“Oh, good idea,” Celirius perked up at the suggestion, brushing at his hands as he stepped away from the door.  The joke seemed to pass right over his head.  “Would you? Here, I've written another one, I just thought it wasn't worth sending it.  You seem like a convincing fellow.  Maybe he'll listen to you.” He patted at his pockets and came up with a roll of parchment tied sloppily with a bit of red string.  He offered it to Ra'kesh.  “Oh, and Kala, it's a hundred and fifty, but could you spare two hundred? I really need to get some more key blanks.”

 

“All right, for old times' sake,” she said, and counted out the money.  Celirius watched her hungrily.  Probably literally hungrily; he looked like he hadn't eaten in a while.  “Would you like a couple of sweetrolls? I'm afraid they'll have gone bad before we get to them.  We can get more tomorrow, but I hate to see these go to waste.”

 

“Really? I love sweetrolls! You're the best Orc I know,” he gushed as she used her new key to open the door.  It did not poison her.  She listened to the clinking as he secreted the coins in his carpet bag.  She went to get the sweetrolls in their paper and brought them back to the door.  “Here you are.”

 

“Oh thank you.  And thanks for your business, and do let me know if you need anything locked.  Reasonable rates!”

 

“Yes yes, very reasonable, off you go,” she shooed him with both hands.  He waved happily and headed off up the hill at a fast walk, intent on getting home with the treats.  When he had gone Kala turned to Ra'kesh and said,

 

“Sorry about that.  He's, well, he's not quite like other people.  Are you ready to go?”

 

“This he can see,” Ra'kesh answered with a hint of amusement.  “Yes, he is ready.”

 

He stepped outside and waited for Kala, then locked the door with his own key to test that it worked.  He tucked the key and letter into his side pouch when it did.  Ra'kesh rather wished that he could snoop at the letter; Wayn probably rejected the man's apologies because they were inadvertently insulting in some way.

 

He accompanied Kala up to High Town for the second time that day, nervous and hopeful all at once.  After the arduous walk they arrived at the Fighters Guild first.  Ra'kesh stopped outside the overhang that lead to the entrance and turned to Kala before they parted.

 

“Good luck with the spell.  He will come check on you afterwards,” he said.  He smiled lightly but the sagging ears betrayed his apprehension.  Ra'kesh was clearly in poor health and visibly tired just from the walk up the hill.  If they did accept him it would be as fodder for rats.

 

“Thanks, and good luck to you, too.  Don't forget your potions.” Kala touched his arm once, looking with sympathy at his ears.  Would he be offended if she directly offered to help? She wasn't entirely sure now.  “And… if they give you something that isn't terribly urgent, maybe we could do it together? I don't think there's a rule, and I certainly know I don't get out of the house enough.  You'd be doing me a favor, really.  Anyway, think about it.” She turned to hurry into the Mages Guild, blushing.

 

Ranys Athrys glanced up from her desk, raising an eyebrow.  “Oh, it's you again, Wizard.  To what do we owe the pleasure?”

 

“I'm here to see Estirdalin about another spell,” she said.  “Is she in?”

 

“Of course.  She hardly ever leaves.” Ranys waved her off, returning to her book.  Kala walked down the ramp slowly, giving herself time to regain her composure.  The light was dimmer in here, the rooms lit mostly by the glow of paper lanterns, and it gave her eyes time to adjust as well.

 

A party of apprentices was just leaving as she entered the large basement room, chattering as they flowed around her to follow their instructor up the stairs.  She recognized Galbedir, a fussy Bosmer who had been part of her own cohort.  She had always privately suspected Galbedir wished she was an Altmer.  She certainly talked and dressed like one, robes unusually ornate and often in the High Elven style.  Today's were layers of yellow silk.

 

Estirdalin was patting a human on the shoulder as Kala approached.  The man was swaying slightly, eyes unfocused.  He had long brown robes and a small pointy beard, dark hair tied back in a tail.

 

“It's normal to feel a bit floaty for a while, especially with it being your first spell purchase,” she said reassuringly.  “Just go and have a lie-down, you'll be right as rain by tonight.  Oh, Kala, hello!” She straightened as the man walked a little unsteadily up the ramp.  “I heard from Masilie that you did go on your expedition.  How did it go?”

 

“I'm working on my translation monogram,” Kala said.  “So it was a reasonable success.  I did run into an important shortcoming of Poison, though, and I need another spell.”

 

“Oh? What sort of spell?” the Altmer was wearing layered green and tan velvet again, with a blue linen shawl around her shoulders.  She still wore her silver-white hair in a large, severe bun.

 

“I need a shock spell that can reasonably kill something with one casting, but which is narrow enough not to harm things to either side of my target.” She had thought through the phrasing very carefully.

 

“Ah.  Poisoned somebody by accident?” Estirdalin asked sympathetically.

 

“Yes.  I was able to heal him, but I don't want to see him go through that again.  Even if he doesn't act as my bodyguard on the next expedition, someone probably will have to if I'm going to keep researching Dwemer ruins,” Kala explained.  “At the very least I'll have to hire someone to help carry my things, and I don't want to kill them.”

 

“Gracious, and poison won't work in the slightest on Dwemer automatons,” Estirdalin said, blinking.  “You should have told me that was your concern, Wizard.  I would have recommended another spell the first go.”

 

“It wasn't the automatons that were the problem, it was bandits,” Kala said.  “Actually…  _ Will  _ a shock spell work on automatons?”

 

“Oh yes.” The Altmer nodded.  “Shock spells work on everything.  The living, the undead, daedra, constructs.”

 

“Good.  Then that is definitely what I want.”

 

“You realize it will have to be an original creation,” Estirdalin said.  “At the level of power you want it will cost you 500 drakes.  I really could not charge less for the difficulty it will cost me.  I shall be quite useless for the rest of the day.”

 

Kala nodded.  “Yes, I expected that.  I have the money with me.”

 

“May I see it?”

 

Kala opened her purse and pulled out the smaller drawstring bag into which she had separated 500 drakes last night.  She held it out.  Estirdalin took it delicately and weighed it with a practiced hand, opened it and peered inside, took out a coin and bit it.  Then she nodded, satisfied, and attached the bag to her belt.

 

“Very well, that's all in order.  We'd better go and sit on a bunk for this one.  I hope you didn't have plans for the evening?”

 

Kala shook her head.  “No, only this.” She followed the tall elf over to the sleeping area behind its cubicle dividers, past the closets and into the rows of bunk beds.  Estirdalin stopped near the back corner, well off the walkway, and sat down on the edge of a lower bunk.  She patted the woolen coverlet beside her.  Kala sat down.

 

“This may take a moment, but once it's ready I need to transfer it right away, and there is no going back at that point.  Are you absolutely positive you want this?”

 

“Yes,” Kala said firmly.  “I am very certain.”

 

Estirdalin nodded.  She raised her two hands to shoulder level, palms facing each other, and breathed deeply.  Her dark green eyes slowly skinned over with something silvery and opaque.  The air between her hands began to waver and distort, darkening almost to black and then lightening to a very pale white.  Little crackles of energy began to dart between the palms of the elf's hands as seconds passed.  The tiny bolts were pulled into the center and gradually began to form a sphere, denser and denser until Kala was looking into an orb of coherent lightning, distilled shock.  It lit up the bunk around them with a blue-white light, casting long, strange shadows out into the aisle.

 

“Ready?” asked the elf.  Her voice carried the strain, higher and thinner than Kala had customarily heard it.

 

“Ready,” said Kala.  The elf pressed her hands together and then forward, shoving the sphere toward the Orc's chest.  It sank in all at once, the light vanishing.  At first she felt only hot and cold.  Then her back arched as agony exploded through every nerve, synapses firing with destructive power.  She might have made a noise, she was never sure.  She could hear nothing but crackling and fizzing, see nothing but white.

 

The pain seemed to go on for hours, but at last it ebbed a little, and her vision started to clear.  She was lying on her back, looking up at the Altmer's serene face.  The elf's nostrils were flared as she breathed slightly harder than usual.  It was the most discomposed Kala had ever seen her, she thought distantly.  She was aware of her weight pressing down the coverlet.  She did not remember lying down.

 

“How long?” she managed.

 

“About five minutes,” said Estirdalin.  “How do you feel?”

 

“I am lightning,” Kala said.  She twitched.  Sparks jumped from her to the bed frame, to Estirdalin, to the other bunk above her.

 

The elf patted her hand.  The touch of flesh on flesh was strange, tempting her to let the lightning go as she sensed something able to be destroyed by it.  She held it in with an effort, gritting her teeth.

 

“Good, you're integrating it properly.  Just try to lie still for a while, there's a good girl.”

 

“Sss,” Kala said, as Estirdalin got up and staggered away out of sight.  She certainly didn't feel like getting up.  The power was still fading, and it seemed to take more of her strength with it every moment.  The feeling of terrifying, agonizing power was gradually being replaced by a feeling of tremendous heaviness.

 

The odd spark still leaped from her body to her surroundings.  They made little pale flashes in the shadow of the bunk.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh watched her hurry away.  The warmth of her hand seemed to spread through his entire body from where she had briefly touched him, but of course he knew this was silly.

 

Kala was without a doubt the most generous person he had ever known.  At first he thought she helped him out of guilt, but just now she had given that extra gold to the locksmith without a second thought.  He wondered if Kala would have done the same had she not recently acquired such wealth.  He came to the conclusion that she probably would.

 

Ra'kesh inhaled deeply and opened the door to the Fighters Guild.

 

\---

 

The Redguard stepped from the transport platform as soon as she appeared, yanking her arm away from the Argonian beside her.  Waduuya's nictating membranes blinked away from his pale gray eyes as he scanned the room.  He stepped down from the platform only after he had his bearings.

 

Waduuya's wide, flat face was covered in gray-green scales that faded to brilliant blue below his eyes and followed his neckline, tapering to nothing beside a fiery orange throat.  The large frills that swept away from the sides of his head were speckled with blue as well.  His calm movements and perpetually half-lidded eyes gave an impression of laziness.

 

The Argonian was dressed very modestly compared to his armored companion.  He wore a green linen tunic laced together in the front with leather cord.  His long-sleeved undershirt and pants were both a dingy tan.  The only piece of clothing in good condition was a thick leather belt lined with fur on the inside.  Four tiny potions in opaque bottles were strapped on the right, a pouch on the left.  A silver dagger with a fin shaped pommel was strapped across the small of his back.  He wore one ring on each hand, both ceramic and unremarkable.

 

“Come on, we don't have all day,” The Redguard complained.

 

“We have the rest of our lives.  Why such a hurry, Esmera?” He nodded politely to the woman standing by the dais and followed Esmera from the little reception area into the larger basement of the Balmora Mages Guild.  She ignored his question.

 

Waduuya paused by a paper screen, nostrils flaring.  Esmera seemed to sense that he was no longer behind her.  She turned, frowning.

 

“What?” she asked harshly.

 

“The prey was nearby,” he answered.  Her expression shifted from annoyance to disbelief.

 

“He was in the Mages Guild?” This time, Waduuya ignored her.  He turned down the space which was divided into a hallway by the furniture, passing wardrobes and rows of beds.  Esmera watched him without moving.  She nodded at a few people who passed and hoped no one asked them what they were doing.  Waduuya came back a moment later.

 

“There is an Orc laying in the corner.  His scent is on her.  It is very faint under the stink of Magicka,” he said quietly.

 

“Is that so?” Esmera moved closer to the Argonian.  “I will go to Eight Plates and see if I can meet with Tiras.  Stay here and watch this Orc.  I'll come back if I don't find him.”

 

Waduuya nodded and watched her walk away.  A dining area with several tables lay on the other side of the room.  He selected an empty spot that gave him a clear view of the privacy screen that led to the rest area and pulled out a chair, threading his tail through the hole in the back before sitting.

 

\---

 

Kala did not notice the Argonian, or care.  She was struggling between heavy sleep and a nightmare of electric, chaotic annihilation, eyes twitching behind her closed eyelids.  Her right hand moved convulsively where it rested on her belt.

 

In the guildhall proper, Marayn Dren completed his tutorial with a student who was studying the history of Alteration – another Dunmer, a terribly bucolic boy from the Ashlands, but he showed some promise – and closed his book.

 

“Good, Noril, good.  You are already an academic.  I expect you to have improved in your practical somewhat by the next time we meet, or one of us will become very damp.”

 

“Yes, Magister,” said the young man, and bowed quickly before scurrying off with his notes.  He wore the plain blue robe that many young apprentices wore.  Marayn wore layered robes of brown and black, geometric and sere as the Dunmer himself.  The ritual scars allowed only to blood members of House Dren marked a rough X across the entirety of his angular face, and his hair formed a short, brushy cliff back beyond his forehead, the effect tending to thrust his hawk-like features forward even more.  He was not young as the Dunmer count years, and the lines were marked deeply at the corners of his eyes and mouth.  Now he arose and looked about himself.  The biggest crowd of teachers and learners had cleared for the day.  An unfamiliar Argonian sat at a nearby table, a colorful fellow, he would have to ask if anyone knew him.  Estirdalin had said something – ah, yes.  She had sold another custom.  It wasn't as though she needed the money, he thought, as close to indulgently as he ever came.

 

He tucked the book under his arm and went to walk among the bunks, looking for Estirdalin's Orc.  He was average in height for his species, but colleagues tended to part around the Alterationist as he passed.  He moved with unknowing authority.

 

He found her toward the back.  He knew that a powerful spell had changed hands by the fact that Estirdalin had actually gone home to sleep for once, so the occasional spark did not surprise him.  He dredged the name effortlessly from memory, though he had been in mid-lecture to Noril about water walking at the time Estirdalin had come by to ask a favor.

 

“Kala gra-Nend,” he said, as he sat on the edge of the bunk.  His voice was harsh, as many Dunmer voices were harsh.  “Do you hear?”

 

The Orc made a soft sound, but did not awaken.  Still, she was breathing well enough, as the sturdy Orcish physiognomy clearly – no, a lot of that was fabric.  Her clothes were too big, and there were dark smudges under her eyes.

 

“Maybe you ought not buy so many spells,” he told her sternly.  “Whatever it is you are fighting, it is a thing you should share with your Guildmates.”

 

Kala's head moved.  Marayn leaned down to catch the half-coherent murmur.

 

“Somebody has to keep an eye on him...”

 

“I see,” he said.  “Well, of course there is that.” So it was a family matter, perhaps.  He hoped it went better than such things had generally gone for him.  Either way, it was none of his business.  “Sleep well, Sera gra-Nend.”

 

She did not seem to hear or answer.  He watched her for a few moments longer, making sure that she did seem to be healthy enough to survive the night.  That was his word to Estirdalin discharged.  He rose and went back out the way he had come, turning toward the shelves beyond the tables to put his book away.  The evening was young, and he should have time to check on the Orc once more before he went home to his rest.

 

On his way past he glanced over to see if the unfamiliar Argonian was still there.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh asked the first person he saw to direct him to the one in charge.  Best to get this out of the way before the letter.

 

“That would be Eydis Fire-Eye,” the woman said.  “She's just upstairs.” The entrance of the guildhall was a narrow hallway, similar to the Mages Guild, with stairwells leading up and down.  He thanked the woman and turned upstairs.

 

Eydis Fire-Eye happened to have a very misleading name.  While the Nord's hair was a cascade of fire, her eyes were a cool blue set in a pale face.  She was seated at a table in the corner of the landing counting out coins from a bag and stacking them into neat towers of ten.  She moved stiffly in her bonemold armor.

 

After finishing a stack and pushing it away, Eydis looked up at her visitor.

 

“Hello, serjo.  How can the Fighters Guild be of service?”

 

“Good afternoon.  This one is Ra'kesh.  He wishes to join the Guild,” He said seriously, ears standing at attention.

 

She looked at him skeptically, eyes roaming from head to toe and lingering briefly on the Dwemer shortsword he carried before returning to his eyes.

 

“Are you sure about that, Khajiit? The Guild is not held responsible, nor do we offer any assistance for members who are maimed or killed.  You might find it easier to earn gold elsewhere.” She was blunt, but not cruel.  Ra'kesh seethed anyway.  He plastered a polite smile across his face before continuing and forced his tail unnaturally still.

 

“Yes, he is quite sure.  Khajiit is capable of handling himself, but you may test him if you wish.”

 

She cocked her head to the side, thinking for a moment.

 

“All right,” she said reluctantly.  “If you can complete a low-ranking contract, I'll consider your application.  We'll fill out the paperwork after you return.”

 

“This is fair,” Ra'kesh said eagerly.  The tension left his features.  “What is the job?”

 

“This job comes from the city itself, so you won't have to travel.  Apparently there is a large rat infestation in the sewers which are impeding city workers from their jobs and entering people's homes.  Take care of it, and bring me twenty rat tails as proof that you've done it.  I believe there's a sewer entrance in the alley behind the guildhall.” The Nord kept a level face as she spoke, but she would have a good laugh over this later.  She was finally getting rid of a contract that no one would touch.  She'd been sitting on this for a month now.

 

Ra'kesh paused for a moment.  Part of him wanted to tell her to shove this job in an uncomfortable place, but it was honest work and would enable him to pay rent to Kala.  Wading through the sewers was a fair price to pay for that.   The moons knew he had done far worse.

 

“...Is there a time limit, and will he be paid?” Ra'kesh finally asked.

 

“Well no, there's no time limit.  Just don't take forever.  The reward was ten gold, I believe.”

 

“all right, he will do this.  Expect his return soon.” He turned to leave, but paused.  “Also, is Wayn here? Ra'kesh has unrelated business with this man.”

 

“Wayn is our blacksmith.  He is probably downstairs in the forge.  And good luck to you.” Eydis Fire-Eye waved him off and returned to her counting.

 

Ra'kesh grumbled to himself as he made his way downstairs to a large training area filled with mats and wooden dummies, where a few novices were being drilled by an instructor.  A doorless entrance on the left clearly led to a forge.  A bald Redguard was at the grinding stone, sharpening a steel blade.  He didn't stop when Ra'kesh approached.

 

“Khajiit carries a letter for one called Wayn.  This is he, correct?” Ra'kesh asked when it became apparent the man would not cease his work.  But Wayn did stop, and raised an eyebrow at Ra'kesh.

 

“Yeah, who's it from?” he grunted.  Ra'kesh dug the letter from his pouch and presented it to the man.

 

“It is from a locksmith named Celirius, who is a friend of a friend.  This one does not know this man well, but he can say that Celirius was extremely apologetic and regretful of his offense.”

 

Wayn snatched the letter from the Khajiit and tossed it on the table beside him.  Then he set to working the blade again.

 

“Thanks for the delivery,” he said dryly, not looking up.  Ra'kesh considered saying something more, but it was none of his business.  He'd delivered the letter as promised.  He bid farewell and turned away.

 

_ What a bunch of boorish churls, _ he thought sourly, storming upstairs and out the front door.  The anger dissipated quickly in the open air.  Farther down the street, the door to the Eight Plates was just clicking shut.

 

Of course Fire-Eye wouldn't trust someone who looked like him with an important job.  Would he do any different in her place? He glanced down the alley that apparently led to the sewers and wrinkled his nose in disgust at the imagined smell.

 

_ Kala may rescind her offer to help when she learns of the job _ .  He had to chuckle at that.  Of course, he wouldn't expect her to go tromping around in the Balmora sewers.

 

Ra'kesh stepped next door to the Mages Guild, thoughts turning to Kala and her spell.  If he thought he was having a bad day, hers was probably going worse by now.  The rats could wait until tomorrow after a full night's rest.  He nodded politely at the Dunmer woman seated by the door.


	21. Chapter 21

Ranys Athrys had not forgotten the Khajiit slave who had threatened her with fleas.  She eyed him with disfavor.

 

"Where are your bracers?" she asked coldly.

 

“They seem to have rusted and fallen off,” he replied gravely, stopping when he was addressed.  “Mistress is inside; he must inform her of this serious issue.  May Khajiit proceed?” He flashed his fangs in a cheeky smile.

 

“Go on, I suppose.” The Dunmer eyed him suspiciously, as if dimly suspecting she were being mocked but not quite sure how.

 

Downstairs, Marayn circulated around the bookshelves until he encountered Larielle Masencourt, a Breton who had been unofficially cataloging the guildhall's books as a project.  She was carefully reshelving a set of small volumes on the 2 nd Era history of the Summerset Isles.

 

“Do you know who that is?” he asked her quietly, reaching up to take down a volume on comparative iterations of the Swift Swim spell.  “The Argonian with the fringe.  Do not stare.”

 

She glanced that way incuriously and continued reshelving.  She was a slender, well-built woman in her early 20's who generally wore her hair pulled severely up in imitation of Estirdalin's, trying to look older.  Marayn characterized her, with approval, as one of nature's librarians.

 

“Never in my life, Magister.  I do not believe he has been here while I have been here.”

 

“Thank you, Sera Masencourt.” He nodded once, half to himself, and took the book over to a table near the Argonian's.  He nodded with severe courtesy as he sat down.

 

Waduuya glanced at the Dunmer as he entered his field of vision and nodded back before returning his attention to the other side of the room.  He did not stare overtly; he glanced around the room from time to time, shoulders relaxed and claws drumming against the table.

 

Ra'kesh thanked Ranys graciously and proceeded down the hallway.  He scanned the room for Kala and froze mid-stride when his eyes landed on the Argonian at the far end of the room.  His back was facing the Khajiit, but those blue-speckled frills...

 

Ra'kesh ducked behind a screen to his right, into what appeared to be a makeshift classroom.  Several rows of benches formed an aisle on either side of him and a lectern stood empty on the far wall.  He kneeled on one of the benches and peeked over the top of a screen which formed a wall separating it from the dining area.  The Argonian briefly turned his head so that he was in profile to Ra'kesh.  Yes, it was Waduuya, without a doubt.  Ra'kesh's golden eyes narrowed.  Was he waiting for someone?

 

Kala.   _ She must be lying down over there. _

 

Ra'kesh clenched his teeth, ears flattening against his skull.  He lowered himself before the Argonian could spot him.  Waduuya used draining magicka to weaken his enemies in close combat.  Engaging him in melee would be suicide for Ra'kesh, and Kala was certainly in no position to defend herself at this time.

 

_ But he can do nothing with so many people around.  She is safe for now. _  He could get help, perhaps from a guard, but what would they do? It was Ra'kesh's word against Waduuya's.  He knew what he had to do.

 

Ra'kesh took a deep breath and stepped out of the classroom.  He approached the Argonian as calmly as he could manage.  Waduuya looked up as he approached, eyes widening for a moment before the complacent, lazy expression returned.

 

“Looking for someone?” Ra'kesh asked with a cocky smile.

 

“He is found,” Waduuya responded, tilting his head to the side.  He made no move to stand.

 

“Oh, he very much doubts this.  Has friend Waduuya been for a swim today? The body of Tiras is at the bottom of the Odai.” No need to inform the Argonian that Tiras was killed by another.

 

“It is just as well.  No one cared much for that smoothskin.  However, that was a very stupid thing for you to do.  You could have paid back what you owe and lived.  Now we must take blood for blood.  Will the Orc do?”

 

A muscle below Ra'kesh's eye twitched.  He remained very still otherwise.  Waduuya laughed.  It was a hoarse, grating sound.

 

“This is a pointless conversation.  Come outside and Waduuya can join Dunmer in the river.” Ra'kesh smirked and turned on his heel.  Waduuya rose calmly and followed him out.  With any luck, Esmera would be returning soon.  He did not need her help to take care of Ra'kesh, but it would be better if they were not separated.

 

Ra'kesh passed Ranys for the second time that day and prayed she would let him be.  Waduuya walked close enough behind that they appeared to be companions.

 

Ranys Athrys glared at the two men as they departed.  As far as she was concerned these betmer were all just as bad as each other.

 

Marayn Dren appeared to continue studying his book as they talked, face seemingly made of stone.  He debated interfering, but he was not sure he had heard enough to justify violence toward a stranger in the eyes of the Guild, and certainly he dared not draw the law's attention to himself.  That would also draw the attention of the family, and it was better for everyone that they continued to ignore his existence, and he theirs.

 

As soon as they had turned their backs he rose quietly and made his way swiftly through the bunks to find Kala again.  She was still asleep.  This time he did shake her, falling to one knee beside the bed.  “Wake up, girl, it is important!”

 

She groaned, and for a moment as her eyes opened they were white all through.  Then the skin of magicka cleared to show confused yellow eyes staring at him.

 

“What? ...Magister Marayn?” Everyone here knew that he did not like to be called by his surname.

 

“Do you have a Khajiit friend who is in trouble with an Argonian?”

 

She tried to sit up very suddenly; only Marayn's arm across her chest stopped her hitting her head on the upper bunk.  “What is it, what's happened?” She clutched at his arm, head spinning.  He supported her back with the other one.

 

“Easy, child.” Things must be serious, she thought dimly.  Marayn had never been heard to call  _ anyone  _ that.  “Your friend called him Waduuya, and he threatened your life, something about blood for blood.  The Khajiit asked him to take it outside.  Kindly release my arm, I have you.”

 

She let go, groaning again, and turned to swing her legs off the bed.  Marayn continued to support her.  “He'll kill him,”  Kala said.  “Tiras nearly killed him alone.  He's not strong enough yet to be fighting all of these dreadful people he used to know!”

 

“You are not strong enough yourself,” grunted the Dunmer.  

 

“I will be.” She thumbed loose a green dot vial, the second-to-last of her blue dot magickas, and the very last of her purples.  She had run out of ash yam for making them.  

 

“This Khajiit, what is he to you?”

 

“It's complicated.  I bought him and then freed him and he's been staying with me while he gets started at the Fighters Guild.  He's a good man, but he's had a very hard life.” She drank in between explaining, then shuddered as energy coursed through her body.  It felt  _ wrong.   _ She still wanted to lie down and let it all fade again, but at least she felt she was in command of her own limbs.

 

“Do you love him?”

 

“Yes, of course I – Magister!” She had answered without thinking, now she blushed and coughed.  “He must never know that.  It would not be fair to him.”

 

“I think perhaps you are wrong, but I am not to make that determination for you.  I will give you a gift.  Perhaps it will help to stabilize what you have bought.” She felt the hand against her back grow warm, then hot.  Then a feeling of strange weakness crept into her body.  It seemed to interact directly with the dreadful energy of the lightning that jittered through her bones, seizing and sapping it.  She sagged for a moment, leaning against the Dunmer rather than fall off the bed.  He supported her quietly.

 

“The one whom you strike with this spell will be killed very easily by shock for ten seconds afterward,” he said.

 

“Thank you, Magister,” she whispered.

 

“Prove yourself worthy, Sera gra-Nend.  Once I made the wrong choice.”

 

She nodded, then struggled to her feet as she downed another green dot vial.  It could not permanently cure exhaustion, but it blunted it for now.  She started out after the other two, drawing a hand down in front of her face to activate her life detection.  With any luck they had not got so far that she would not be able to identify the tall body of the Khajiit.

 

Marayn rose and accompanied her to the bottom of the ramp, watching her go.  He did not speak again.  He was not a mer of many words.

 

Kala did not remember much of the trip.  She came to herself leaning on her own doorpost, head against the door, panting.

 

_ Wait, why did I go home? That was so stupid.  Now he won't know where to find me.   _ Her knees wanted to give out.  The potions were probably wearing off.  She managed to fumble out the key from her belt pouch, dropped it, picked it up again, and heard it click inside the lock.

 

The inside of the house smelled warm and familiar.  She tugged the door shut and heard it lock itself behind her.

 

“Good jo', Celirius,” she mumbled, and staggered over to the stairs.  She sat down on the lowest one to rest for a moment, laying her head against the wall and shutting her eyes.

 

That was exactly where she would be for the next couple of hours.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh stepped into the open street, Waduuya behind.  He was too distracted to notice the Redguard approaching from the North, but she spotted him from down the street and quickened her pace.  The Argonian saw her as well, but said nothing.

 

Ra'kesh nodded towards the alley between the Guild and neighboring shop and moved in that direction.  He focused on the bone amulet nestled beneath his shirt in the fur of his chest.  Being inexperienced with enchantments, it took some extra concentration for him to activate it without holding the charm in his hand.  The power from the amulet seeped slowly at first, then coursed through his body to gather in the muscles of his legs, an electric tingle that assured him he could jump to the moons if only he tried.

 

Waduuya sensed the discharge of Magicka.  He raised his left hand, the ring on his finger flashing red, but it was too late.  Ra'kesh charged into the alley and leapt the height of two men.  His toes caught the wall to propel himself further, springing over the lip and landing with a wobble on the Mages Guild roof.  He heard a woman yell but didn't stick around to see the source of the voice.  He landed on the neighboring roof as soon as he had his bearings.  By now Waduuya must be running up the steps to the guild roof, but he would never catch up with Ra'kesh.

 

The houses in Balmora were clustered close together, enough so that Waduuya could have followed next door without the use of magicka.  But the streets dividing the blocks were farther apart.  Ra'kesh didn't balk as he approached the edge of the street.  Powered by sheer adrenaline he launched into the air and cleared the street easily, tail sailing majestically behind him.  He was running and leaping the second his feet hit the roof.

 

Despite the danger he was in, Ra'kesh grinned maniacally as he bounded from roof to roof, heading South, deeper into the commercial district.

 

Waduuya turned down the steps when he realized he would never catch up.   Esmera was beside him now, her leather boots thumping quickly on the cobblestone.  They ran the length of two blocks, pushing through the crowd and shoving people out of the way, but Ra'kesh was already leaping the fourth block.  They would never catch him.

 

Waduuya stopped first and waited for Esmera to return.  She glared at him with pure rage.

 

“You let him escape!”

 

“Tiras is dead,” he answered coolly, and turned back towards the Mages Guild.  “The Orc is our only lead now.  We must track her.”

 

“We drew too much attention,” Esmera said.  People in the street stared and murmured, most of them giving the two a wide berth.

 

“We'll come back later.  Let us stay at the inn for now.  Tomorrow we will stake out the Guild and wait to see the Orc again.” Waduuya dipped into a side street so they wouldn't have to go back the way they came and headed to the Eight Plates through the alley that passed behind the Guildhalls and shops.

 

Kala emerged from the guild and paused to lean on one of the pillars, trying to get her bearings.  There were people all around in the early evening.  None was the familiar signature of the Khajiit.  Her stomach contracted fiercely.  The sharp pain reminded her that she had not eaten for some while now.

 

_ Ra'kesh would look for me at the Guild.  With Ranys and Marayn and the others around there so often it's probably the safest place I could possibly be, if someone didn't sneak in and stick a knife between my ribs while I slept. _

 

_ Ah.  If that.   _ The Argonian had been right there inside the Guild proper.  Almost anyone could walk in or out, especially if they were stealthy enough to get around Ranys.  That, admittedly, was hard; she didn't like the Dunmer, but patronage wasn't the  _ only _ reason she was head of the local branch.   _ I would not bring trouble down on my guildmates.  They don't deserve that of me. _

 

She could go home, alone, through the gathering dark.  She could stay at the Guild, alone, and risk causing either a fracas that would get her thrown out of the place in this world that had the most meaning for her or an ignominious death in the night.

 

Or.

 

Kala looked up toward High Town, where the lamps were just being lit.  She knew where the Morag Tong guildhall was.  Probably everyone knew.  But if she went there, Ra'kesh would not know where to find her.  Presumably the Argonian could track her by scent either way.

 

_ Home, then.   _ She moved one hand diagonally in front of her, raising the iridescent bubble of her shield, and started unsteadily down the hill toward Labor Town.  Thank the Nine she had a solid lock and a key now.

 

The spell petered out when Ra'kesh was nearly at the city gate.  He fell panting to one knee on the rooftop.  He'd glanced behind himself a few times and saw no sign of Waduuya but had kept running for as long as he could.

 

_ S'rendarr, Mara, Alkosh, and any who will listen..  Please keep him away from Kala! _ He beseeched the skies, hoping his prayer would somehow pierce Aetherius and fall on the ears of the gods.  Kala would be safe as long as she stayed in the guildhall.  Waduuya wasn't stupid enough to try anything in there- besides, he needed her alive if he ever hoped to find Ra'kesh again.

 

Some Dunmer were seated on a rooftop two buildings over.  They stared suspiciously.  Ra'kesh ignored them and climbed downstairs.  He stepped in front of the first guard he saw, one of a pair at the city gate.

 

“Can serjo tell this one location of the Morag Tong guildhall?” he asked breathily.  The guard's helmed face tilted down as he appraised the Khajiit in front of him.

 

“I don't think you can afford their services,” he said.  Both guards chuckled, earning them a sharp glare.

 

“So this is the treatment Ambassador to the Mane receives!” he growled.  “Say, what is guard's name?”

 

The guards exchanged a look.

 

“Uh, the guild is in High Town, at the end of the street with the shops.”

 

“The one with Nalcarya the alchemist?” he asked in surprise.

 

“Yes, that's the one.”

 

Ra'kesh turned without a word and headed North, weaving through side streets and back alleys the entire way.  The guards looked at one another again and burst into laughter.

 

Ra'kesh wanted to drop from exhaustion by the time he reached the guild.  He knew it from the distinctive lack of sign or flag.  At least, he hoped this lone building at the end of the street was the right one, and not someone's house.  He looked both ways before trying the door.  Unlocked.

 

The interior of the guildhall was a large space divided into sections with paper screens, much like the Mages Guild.  Red lanterns were the only source of light, casting a fiendish tint across the entire place.  A large planter of thorny trama roots dominated the center of the room.

 

_ Yeesh.  Some staked heads would really lighten the mood in here. _

 

No one appeared to be present at first glance.  As he proceeded through the room, he encountered an area closed off with screens.  It seemed rather office-like, with two desks against either wall.  A red-robed (Of course, Ra'kesh thought) Dunmer was unloading potions from a satchel onto the desk.  He looked up when Ra'kesh approached; a black hand tattoo decorated the right side of his leathery face.

 

There was just enough space between the screens for him to slip through.  Ra'kesh shouldered his way in.

 

“Hello, serjo.  Khajiit must speak to Saw-Them-Fall.  Is she here?” His tone was urgent despite every effort to appear calm.

 

“Saw-Them-Fall? Yes, I believe she is here.” The Dunmer calmly finished setting out his current potion bottle and went out into the main room.  “Come with me, if you would.  Is your business with her personal or personal?”

 

“Can assassinations be one or the other? He supposes it is professional, then,” Ra'kesh said dryly, following the elf.

 

"Some of us do have social lives, serjo," the man pointed out.  "We are a legitimate Guild with nothing to hide from honest folk, praise the Spinner." If he was aware of the internal contradiction encoded by this statement it was not evident.

 

He went to another paper cubicle and tapped gently on the wood frame, then stepped back.  “Saw-Them-Fall, there is a gentleman to see you.”

 

The Argonian emerged a moment later.  Today she wore linen pants and a dark gray homespun shirt in the same high-necked style as before.  She looked up at Ra'kesh, then nodded, flicking the apology spines up and down again.  “Thank you, Felnan.” The Dunmer withdrew silently.  “Good evening, Ra'kesh.  Have you changed your mind?”

 

Ra'kesh launched into the problem without returning her greeting.

 

“Khajiit has been pursued by an associate of Tiras just now.  Kala may be in danger.  He wonders if you have writs for all friends of Tiras, or just their employer?” He spoke in hushed tones out of habit despite the perfectly legal contents of the conversation.

 

"My writ is for his employer only," she said.  Nostrils flared briefly as she registered that he had probably run some way to get here; the adrenaline was acrid.  A very faint taint of magicka suggested that he had been somewhere more impregnated with it than the Orc's house.  "But I have an idea with regard to that.  Do you know how the honor of the Tong works?"

 

His ears sagged at her response.

 

“No, not really.  But he was planning to trade the name for help with this matter.  He does not know if such a thing is legal..”

 

Saw-Them-Fall shook her head.  “One may not contract as a mercenary.  One may not attack without provocation outside contract or kill where less lethal force is sufficient.  One  _ may  _ attack with lethal force where one's honor has been tarnished, whether by direct attack or by subterfuge attempting to circumvent a contract.  What I suggest is that I follow one or both of you and place myself in such a situation that they are willing to attack.”

 

Ra'kesh stared blankly for a moment.  That seemed to him a very obvious subversion of the rules based on a technicality, but he wasn't about to argue it.  A relieved smile cracked over his face.

 

“Ra'kesh thanks his friend graciously! Can she leave now?” 

 

“Yes, I can,” she said calmly, padding after the Khajiit on broad and silent feet.  Obvious subversion based on technicalities was a long-standing tradition in the worship of Mephala in general and the Tong in particular, but he was not to know that.  She had heard that a colleague in Vivec had actually convinced someone to kill three men in a tavern who were threatening to beat but not kill him.  It was the path that mattered, that it must never be the straight and narrow way.

 

He moved towards the door, speaking quickly as he went.  “An Argonian named Waduuya was watching Kala inside the Mages Guild, no doubt catching the scent of Khajiit and waiting for him to arrive.  Ra'kesh led him away and escaped through the city.  With any luck, he returned to the guild and has not harmed Kala.  She is probably asleep and knows nothing of this.  She was resting after learning a spell.”

 

He frowned.  What a mess he'd gotten them both into.  And now Augustus would have to be killed anyway.  Why hadn't he given Saw-Them-Fall the name to begin with? He'd choose Kala's safety over that bastard any day.  Regret for his shortsightedness formed a black ball in his guts.

 

“He warns you, Waduuya is no fool.  He has enchanted rings which drain strength and stamina at close range.  He will try to lure you close.”

 

“I thank you for the information,” Saw-Them-Fall said politely, wrapping her tail forward to avoid the door as it shut behind them.  “I think we shall do fine.”

 

Ra'kesh couldn't get back to the Mages Guild fast enough.  His knees were screaming from all the walking and running that day and it wasn't long before he was panting again.  He only slowed as they approached the main street.  Waduuya might be watching the building from outside.  Ra'kesh glanced at every alley mouth and rooftop, but saw no sign of the Argonian.

 

“He does not seem to be around,” Ra'kesh reported, hand on the guild door.

 

Saw-Them-Fall followed him, eyes and nostrils open to the night.  She found the scent near the door because she was looking for it.  A hand had touched the pillar, had stayed there for some seconds.  More than one Orc went in and out of the guild regularly, but only one had left in the last hour, and it was one she had smelled before, nuanced with chemicals and currently heavily overlaid with magicka…

 

“Kala gra-Nend left this building a little while ago,” she said.  “An Argonian left here shortly before that.  There are many scents here, much traffic in and out, but I am sure he has not returned.  Is your friend ill? Experimenting, perhaps?”

 

Ra'kesh paused, flicking an ear back uncertainly.  He could smell Kala and Waduuya on the door, but not well enough to get a clear picture of when they had left.

 

“Ill..? She learns spells by absorbing.  Last time she was weakened from the process.” He let go of the door and banged his fist against the hard plaster wall.  “Kala said she would sleep the night here! Why did she leave?!” He turned away from the door and paced in a short circle, eyes darting from place to place as if he would find her waiting nearby.

 

The Argonian's green eyes followed him as she watched, unmoving.  It was an odd situation.  He smelled as though he and the Orc had touched, but not as though their relationship was physically intimate.  Perhaps they were just good friends.  She enjoyed the relationship of courtesy and respect that she had with her brothers in the Guild, but she had never had or wanted the kind of friendship where you punched a wall when someone went missing.  It looked exhausting.

 

“Calm yourself.  Perhaps she noticed the Argonian, or perhaps she is not thinking very clearly.  She went off down the hill.” She pointed.  “I find no signs that they have followed her yet.  We can probably find her before they do.”

 

“Yes, she must have went home.  Come!” He charged off down the hill.

 

He should have felt relieved.  Despite Waduuya's cowardly threat, Ra'kesh had no reason to believe he would do anything to Kala.  She had not been followed and with a powerful ally at his side, Kala's safety was ensured.  Yet a terrible dread ate him from within and grew every second he did not confirm her health with his own eyes.

 

They arrived at the house shortly.  Ra'kesh only paused momentarily for Saw-Them-Fall to confirm Kala's route a handful of times.  The key was in his hand before they even reached the door.  He could not smell Waduuya on the house at all and knew Saw-Them-Fall would let him know if her superior nose detected anything.

 

“They have not been here,” Saw-Them-Fall told him, watching the street as he opened the door.  “But she did go in.” She stepped backward in after him and shut the door firmly.  

 

His fingers trembled as he inserted the key and shoved the door open as soon as it clicked in the lock.  Ra'kesh immediately saw Kala slumped on the steps, his golden irises thinning to slivers in the dark of the room.  He irrationally thought her dead and raced to her side, forgetting the key in the lock.

 

“Kala!” he cried, roughly shaking the sleeping Orc's shoulder.

 

Saw-Them-Fall turned at his voice, head on one side.  She felt that she was seeing something unfamiliar to her, and she was not sure what she thought about that.

 

Kala stirred, groaning, then reached up to grab his hand, brows drawing together as she squinted at him.  “Wha – Ra'kesh? Are you all right?” She wanted badly to be asleep again, but her uncooperative brain was trying to signal her of a couple of important facts.  One, he looked genuinely exhausted and agitated; and two, there was someone else in the room, waiting back by the door.  “Are we at home?”

 

His entire body sagged in relief when she spoke.  He kneeled beside her on the floor, suddenly feeling extremely foolish, but he couldn't have been gladder to know she was safe.  His nose prickled, threatening tears that did not come.

 

“Yes, Yes, Ra'kesh is fine.  We are at home.  Why did Kala leave the guild?” he asked gently, covering the hand that gripped his with his other and squeezing reassuringly.

 

“Magister Morayn said that you had left with an Argonian, that he threatened us both.” She sat up, trying to defy muscles that were stubbornly insisting she was a liquid.  His hands were warm and she wanted to lean on him and go back to sleep and just… lie there forever…

 

She caught herself swaying forward and braced a hand against his chest.  “Sorry.  I thought you were fighting and I wanted to find you, and then… I don't remember why then.  Is that Saw-Them-Fall?”

 

“Yes, I am here in case they succeed in tracking you both,” the Argonian said.  “Which is not completely unlikely.” Then perhaps she would have a slightly more interesting evening than watching two people who badly needed to eat and sleep try to restrain the kind of boiling emotions that she was certain she had never felt.  Or if she had, it had been long ago, and in another place, and she often chose to forget.


	22. Chapter 22

Ra'kesh extracted one of his hands from Kala's grasp to support her shoulder lest she topple over.  He looked sheepishly at the waiting Argonian.

 

“He must apologize for all the trouble tonight.  None of this would have happened if he- never mind.  Ra'kesh knows Saw-Them-Fall is helping him out of necessity, but he still must thank her profusely for all she is doing.” He turned back to Kala, urging her to stand with a gentle pressure on her shoulder.

 

“Come to bed, Kala.  Everything is all right, nothing to worry over.  Ra'kesh will help you stand.”

 

Saw-Them-Fall nodded.  “I will wait down here.  I seem to recall that the house has no windows large enough to admit a person, no door on the upper story?”

 

“Nothing like that,” Kala said, trying not to slur her words.  He was helping her up.  She felt a warm, confusing glow, and it made it harder for her to concentrate on staying awake.  “Why are you doing this?”

 

“It is a matter of honor that I find the employer of these miscreants, Sera.  Rest and recover.  I will call if there is trouble.”

 

Kala turned to lean on him as they went up the stairs.  “Are you sure you're all right? You've been running.  You're so warm.”

 

“Ra'kesh has run from one corner of town to the other and back again,” he admitted with a tired smile.  He enjoyed the solid warmth of her pressed against his side, but now was not the time for such thoughts.  He lead her down the hallway and pushed open the bedroom door with his free hand.

 

“He will explain everything later.  For now, sleep,” Ra'kesh commanded, pulling back the bed covers.

 

“Yes.” She lay down willingly, nudging off her shoes but not bothering with anything else.  “You nee' … sleep too, Ra'kesh… My poor wonderful… Khajiit...”

 

And she was gone again, sinking willingly into the warm darkness as her eyes shut.  There was no more pain.  The lightning was there, but it was part of her now.

 

Downstairs, Saw-Them-Fall stretched, pulled a chair away from the nearest projectile-vulnerable window, and settled down to wait.  She would not have trouble staying awake.  She customarily did most of her sleeping in daylight.

 

Upstairs, Ra’kesh’s whiskers twitched.

 

” _ My poor wonderful Khajiit”? _ Strange emotions twisted inside him.  He pulled the blanket to her chin and recalled being in this same position just two nights ago.

 

_ Kala will continue saving Ra'kesh from trouble and he will continue tucking her in when she exhausts herself.   _ He smiled at that- he could get used to this.  The smile faded when he realized she'd be better off if he disappeared that night and never came back.

 

Maybe Kala was incapable of saying no to the less fortunate.  Like Celirius with his pale hand outstretched, Ra'kesh was just another charity case she felt obligated to help.  He stroked the back of his furred hand over her forehead and wished that he could be an equal to her, someone worth loving.   _ Not a freedman she once saw shivering in a dirty cage. _

 

Ra'kesh wanted to kiss her serene face, but that would be a violation of her personal space.  Even if she didn't know.  He reluctantly turned away and closed the door quietly behind himself before returning downstairs to the kitchen.

 

“There is food in these cupboards you are welcome to have,” he said to Saw-Them-Fall, opening one to retrieve cold slaughterfish leftovers.  “Please, can he bring a plate? And let Ra'kesh light some candles.” He busied himself preparing the meal to distract from the awkwardness of having a stranger in the house who was waiting to kill an old friend of his.

 

Saw-Them-Fall watched him curiously.  “I will light the candles, Serjo.  Thank you.” He wasn't trying to poison her; that was not the best way with Argonians in general, and it was not unreasonable for someone else to assume a Morag Tong assassin would have honed that trait to an astonishing degree (as, indeed, she had done).  She was not especially hungry, but if it made him calmer, it was probably worth it.

 

She got up and went to the cupboard nearest the oven, where most families would keep the candles and the flint and tinder.  There they were.  They had not been used a great deal of late, and most of the waxy cylinders were intact.  Presumably the mage used spells for light while she was working.  Saw-Them-Fall was able to cast Night Eye, but there was no reason to bring that up now.  It would interfere with the Khajiit's attempt to calm himself to interrupt his assertion of normalcy.

 

“This man who wishes to have you killed, how well did you know him?” she asked as she lit the first candle.  She would then use it to light two more, setting them about the counter areas where they would be near nothing flammable if knocked over.

 

Ra’kesh’s tail flicked at the mention of Augustus.  Why couldn't the bastard leave him alone? He was wealthy enough that he would not even miss what Ra'kesh had taken.  It barely seemed worth the lives of his goons...  but he probably did not expect Ra'kesh to pose any threat to them, rightfully so.

 

“Ra'kesh knew him well,” he admitted.  He handed a plate of slaughterfish and a fork to Saw-Them-Fall when she returned to her chair.  He'd used the earthenware instead of the Dwemer just in case she had an opinion about that.  “We drank together often before the relationship turned to business.  He seems at first to be very generous and thoughtful man, but in actuality is very calculating, sometimes cruel.  Khajiit learned to stay on his good side.”

 

Ra'kesh ate his own meal standing by the counter.  He suddenly remembered the key in the door and set his plate down to retrieve it.  Nothing happened when he eased the door open a crack, so Ra'kesh opened it further, thrusting his head outside and glancing to either side.  The street was deserted.  He grabbed the key from the lock and retreated inside quickly.  The door clicked as it locked.

 

\---

 

Waduuya was content to nap and deal with finding Ra'kesh in the morning, but Esmera insisted they return to the Mages Guild after dark.  They had the street to themselves while he scented the door, easily catching both Ra'kesh and the Orc's trail.  The Orc stank powerfully of sulfurous magicka as she had before, while the Khajiit exuded fear and anxiety.  A curious pair.

 

Paper lanterns and stars lit their way as they followed the sloping road.  Waduuya caught the scent of an Argonian too often for it to be a coincidence.  She had traveled with Ra'kesh.  He didn't bother imparting this information to Esmera until they reached the little house on the other side of the river.

 

“Ra'kesh and the Orc arrived separately some hours ago.  I believe an Argonian accompanied him and is waiting inside,” Waduuya reported after inspecting the door.  He rejoined Esmera on the opposite side of the street, where they could talk without risk of being heard.  “The door is trapped.”

 

“Can you neutralize it?”

 

“They number three against our two.  That is not a wise idea.” The Argonian's spiny frills pressed against his scalp in response to the chill of night.  He wished that Esmera could have waited for daylight.  They would end up waiting in any case.

 

“Damn.  He's been out of jail for a month, how did he suddenly get all these friends?” Esmera scuffed her boot against the cobblestone below, worn smooth by years of treading feet.  Waduuya offered no response.

 

After a short discussion, they decided to separate and wait at opposite ends of the street.  Watching the house directly would be too conspicuous.  Instead they would wait for a female Argonian or the Orc as described by Waduuya to pass in either direction- they couldn't all stay holed up in the house forever.  Esmera tucked herself into an alley on the Southern end on the block, while Waduuya retreated as far back as the river, where he could blend with the crowd when morning came and keep an eye on the road that led to the bridge.  It was the logical path anyone would take when leaving the neighborhood.

 

\---

 

Saw-Them-Fall accepted the plate politely, turning the fork over deftly in her fingers for a moment.  “Thank you.  How did you come to know Sera gra-Nend?” She was fond of slaughterfish.  It was not a sophisticated taste, so she did not often indulge it when she wasn't working.  Fortunately, being overly fond of fancy things did not fit with the cover she usually used; being small and plebeian and harmless was an excellent way to remain completely invisible in most cities of Vvardenfell, and there was something especially harmless about any person eating.

 

Still, she did it very neatly and correctly.  One had to have manners.

 

“Well,” he said, hesitating.  His eyes darted to Saw-Them-Fall once before snapping back to the key in his hands.  He played with it absently, rotating it with only his first three fingers.  “Ra'kesh was a..  slave.  Kala bought him and released him about a week later.  He spent more time in the slave pen waiting to be sold than actually working for Kala, actually.” Now that it was said he felt the shame lessen.  Ra'kesh was able to look at her again.  Based on her lack of accent and her highly skilled profession, Ra'kesh figured the threat of slavery was a very distant thing to Saw-Them-Fall.

 

Saw-Them-Fall listened seriously, eyes on the Khajiit.  That made the Orc an unusual person.  Her speech suggested an economic level higher than Ra'kesh's, but she was obviously in love with him.  Most people would see either species or class as unbreakable barriers on their own, let alone the very awkward situation of having bought a slave.  She supposed that the Mages Guild probably fostered more such strange souls than any other company.

 

“This friend of yours, he had you sold?” she asked.  No one in her family had been a slave, as far as she knew.  She had had to kill some of them, because those born under the Shadow were traditionally given to the Dark Brotherhood to be raised, and that made them deadly enemies of the Tong.  Enforced servitude had always been a more distant problem than the possibility that she would have to fight off another one of her cousins who was trying to create a toehold in Vvardenfell for the Brotherhood.  

 

She pitied betmer who were slaves, but it was in the way one would pity a beggar asking for coin; sad, even very unfortunate, but not really one's problem once they were out of sight.

 

Ra'kesh laughed and put the key away.

 

“No, Ra'kesh came to Vvardenfell free.  He was accused in Vivec of having skooma, arrested, and sentenced to slavery for this.  A complete lie, he assures you!” He shook a finger very seriously at the Argonian.  “Dunmer are corrupt and make life hard for Khajiit.”

 

Ra'kesh returned to the sink to wash off his plate.

 

“As long as we are sharing life stories, Ra'kesh must ask how Saw-Them-Fall came to enter her line of work?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder with mild curiosity.  He did find it interesting that someone would deliberately choose to kill strangers.  Ra'kesh started off killing for revenge and in time it turned into a way of life he couldn't escape.  He would never have chosen that life for himself.  But she did, and this mystified him.  He already had a good guess what type of person would be attracted to the life of an assassin based on the morbid atmosphere in their guildhall, but Saw-Them-Fall seemed a perfectly reasonable and rational individual.

 

Saw-Them-Fall got up and took her plate over to wash it likewise, giving him a good amount of space both because it was polite and because it was now automatic to do so, so that she could watch each small movement.

 

“In my family are many born under the sign of the Shadow,” she said.  “And the Shadowborn are given to the Dark Brotherhood.  To be one of our bloodline but born under another sign is to be less than no one.  My brother was born under the Shadow.  I was born under the Tower.” The seething bitterness that she still felt did not entirely convey itself through her tone; but her apology spines were flat as flat, and she pulled her lips away from her teeth more than previously as she spoke.

 

“My brother was sent away to study.  I was treated as a servant in my own home, and always my parents spoke with scorn and hatred of the Morag Tong, which prevents the Dark Brotherhood from taking hold in Vvardenfell.  So when they came to Vivec to trade, I escaped from them and went to seek the Guildhall under the city.  It took me many weeks of eating rats and avoiding daedric cultists, but in the end I did find it.”

 

Ra'kesh stared at her, alarmed.  Her story was at once sad and confusing.

 

“Ra'kesh is..  very sorry.  To have such callous parents must have been hard.  But he does not understand; if you were to run away, why not do anything else with your life? Was it to spite your family?” He dried and put away his plate, then moved to the side, one arm resting on the edge of the counter while he watched her.

 

“Back then, yes.” She watched his movements, then dried and put away her own plate likewise.  “I was thirteen and full of rage, and it is not a wise age.  I remained with the Tong because I found respect there for what I was able to do, not how I was born.  That is a valuable thing in Vvardenfell as in the Marsh.  And from my brethren I learned many useful things, not only how to serve the Spinner by assassination.” She went to each of the windows in turn as she talked, peering through the distorted glass to look for movement.

 

“Even now I would say that I have done few things that I regret.  It is seldom that someone pays to have killed a lovely young person who had done no wrong, if you understand me.”

 

Ra'kesh considered her words silently.  He was seeing the Morag Tong, and her, in a different light.  She had been forced on her own at a young age, just as he had, but unlike Ra'kesh Saw-Them-Fall never had a loving family to begin with.  This was a sad thing to know.  He hoped that she found friendship and happiness with the Tong.

 

“If Waduuya comes he will not attack the house.  There is no easy way in, and he is outnumbered.  We should sleep in shifts and go looking tomorrow,” he offered after the silence stretched too long.

 

“I think that is an excellent idea,” said Saw-Them-Fall.  “You go first, and I will wake you in four hours.” He was obviously exhausted, and it was possible he would fall asleep on watch anyway.  She was probably far more used to being awake at this time of night than even the average Khajiit.  She supposed they must have separate rooms, or they would not be able to keep effectively deluding each other about their situation.

 

“There is at least a chance they will remain awake to watch the house, and we will then be better rested than they are.”

 

To hear someone express sympathy for her situation felt… strange.  Confusing.  She was used to receiving respect from her Brothers and Sisters, but no one was likely to say “I'm sorry” in such a way.  Nearly everyone had some sort of story like hers.  It was common currency, and to exchange them would provoke only mild curiosity and acknowledgment.

 

She would have to give this more thought.  She had been interacting with ordinary people for a long time, quietly pretending to be one of them, but that did not usually allow of conversations like the one they had been having.

 

“That is generous of you.  Ra'kesh wore himself out quite a bit running from Waduuya earlier.” He looked back at her briefly from the mouth of the stairwell.  “His room is first by the bathroom.  The door will be open.” 

 

Saw-Them-Fall nodded back at him from over by the window.  She felt there was more to be said.  It would wait.  She had all of the time, forever.  That was the only way to school herself to patience at any task, to think of it thus.

 

Ra’kesh felt that perhaps he should say more, like thank her again or confide his own troubled past.  But his tired brain was done feeling emotions and slogging through conversation for the day, so Ra'kesh pulled his heavy body up the stairs and collapsed into his bed.

 

He did not remove his belt or weapons, and slept lightly on top of the covers.

 

Saw-Them-Fall spent the next four hours stretching, doing small exercises, and moving about the room peering out of the cloudy windows, ears and nose open to every draft that came in under the front door.  It was not the first such vigil she had spent, though usually not for the purpose of defending someone.  When the time had elapsed, based on the change in the quality of the light outside as the moons rose, she debated whether to wake him at all.  She was still not particularly fatigued, and he certainly was.  On the other hand, if she did not wake him she might be demonstrating herself to be untrustworthy, and that would not help her case as regarded convincing him to give up his “friend's” name, appearance, and probable location.

 

She padded upstairs to check on them each.  The Orc was still sleeping heavily, not moving in the slightest.  The Khajiit had gone to sleep on top of the coverlet with his weapons still on.

 

“Ra'kesh,” she said softly, from the doorway.

 

An ear flicked in response.  Ra'kesh was vaguely aware that someone was present, but he was somewhere soft and warm that he never wanted to leave.  He started to tell her to go away when a memory resurfaced - the small Argonian standing at the window, checking for an intruder.   _ That's right, Saw-Them-Fall is here. _  He forced open his eyes and exhaled heavily in disappointment.

 

Sleeping light was a skill Ra'kesh had been forced to acquire quickly in his youth.  There were no off-hours on a ship.

 

“Four hours passes quickly,” he breathed, rising to his elbows and blinking at the black silhouette against gray that stood in the doorway.  The Argonian appeared as his eyes adjusted to the light.  It was with great effort that he convinced his body to rise from bed.

 

“All yours,” he said, and bumped into the doorjamb.

 

Saw-Them-Fall instinctively swayed to one side, avoiding his clumsy movement, then registered what was happening and caught at his elbow.

 

“With caution.  Perhaps you should not.  I can stand another watch.”

 

“No, it is fine.” He waved dismissively.  “Some cold water will wake him up.” He slid past her to head for the bathroom, feeling more alert already.  He decided that he didn't need a face full of wet fur afterwards and ventured downstairs.

 

After surveying the street through the windows and finding nothing of interest, Ra'kesh seated himself in the chair Saw-Them-Fall had left with arms crossed over his chest.  He suddenly snapped awake, foot slipping from the bottom bar.  Had he nodded off just now? The windows were still dark, so - couldn't have been long.  Ra'kesh stood and paced the room lest it happen again.

 

The hours passed agonizingly slow.  He would have liked to pass the time with his lute, but that would be rude.  Ra'kesh was greatly relieved when the gray night faded to pink sunrise.  Waduuya's death would wake him from this terrible nightmare and Saw-Them-Fall would be happily off to Vivec to end the problem at its source.

 

“Saw-Them-Fall, Magnus rises,” he said outside her door.

 

The bed was neatly made and apparently empty.  After a moment Saw-Them-Fall eeled her way sinuously out from under the dust ruffle, rolled easily to her feet, and straightened her tunic at the hem, then checked the neck to see that the buttons were buttoned.  She generally slept very well.  A change in the scent of her environment would wake her faster than any sound could, and she had been awake from the moment she scented the Khajiit outside the door.

 

“I trust the night was uneventful.  Does Sera gra-Nend yet sleep?”

 

Ra'kesh did a double-take, then tried not to stare.  The Argonian had rose from under the bed so quickly he wasn't sure if his tired eyes were playing tricks on him.  She appeared tidy and pristine as usual.  Perhaps this uncanny ability was some boon granted by Mephala, although unnatural tidiness did not seem to be of her sphere.

 

“If Ra'kesh's body odor was so offensive, he could have fetched another blanket,” he said.  His tone was serious but his eyes glittered with humor.  “Nothing has happened and based on past experience, Kala should sleep several hours more.” Ra'kesh hoped not to involve Kala further.  With any luck she would sleep peacefully through the ugliness that was to follow.

 

The Khajiit's eyes laughed at her as his mouth promised grim solemnity.  It was an expression she had seldom seen in her life, and Saw-Them-Fall squinted her outer eyelids for just a moment, an almost-smile in return.

 

“Under the bed is much safer than on top of it,” she informed him as she padded past him into the hallway, headed for the bathroom across the hall.  “Any enemy must expose their eyes in order to reach.” The bathroom door shut behind her with a firm click.  Everything was very clean in this house.  Even the drains did not smell as one would expect from Balmora at this time of year; there was a chemical overlay that suggested a deliberate use of alchemical runoff was probably the cause.

 

Saw-Them-Fall exerted considerable discipline in resisting the urge to strip and run water all over herself.  She would go for a real swim upstream when this was over, where the water was clean and the slaughterfish were fat and also, importantly, none of her guildmates could see her.

 

She emerged five minutes later, groomed as best she could.

 

Ra'kesh waited anxiously by the door for her, checking each window multiple times.  His tail tapped back and forth against either leg.

 

“A friend of Kala's trapped this door yesterday.  He was an odd man, but an expert with locks.  Ra'kesh does not believe it will be broken into,” He explained when Saw-Them-Fall appeared, unlocking the door and stepping outside cautiously.  He knew in an instant that Waduuya had been by.  The scent was faint; the Argonian did not touch the door or any part of the house, but he had stood here.  The Khajiit's tawny ruff bristled.

 

_ When did this happen? When Ra'kesh was carelessly nodding off downstairs? _

 

“He has to be nearby,” Ra'kesh growled, stepping out of the way for Saw-Them-Fall, who would undoubtedly have a clearer picture of Waduuya's movements than he.  She followed him out, head down to ensure the widest field of vision, nostrils wide.

 

"Yes.  He was not here long ago.  A Redguard was here as well, but I do not know if there is any connection.  Perhaps it was only a neighbor.  He went down the street that way."

 

She moved over against the building, engaging her chameleon spell as she blended with the morning's shadows.

 

\---

 

The night passed slowly for Esmera.  She sat at the mouth of an alley, diagonal from the target, back pressed against a wall.  Her armored legs lay stretched in front of her.  She could see the front door from her vantage point, just barely.  Tall ceramic storage pots partially concealed both herself and the view.

 

Over those long hours the house faded in and out of her consciousness.  Esmera was just the muscle, not a tracker accustomed to spending long hours lying in wait.  When the door opened she squinted in confusion.  Then she remembered herself and ducked to the side, letting the pots conceal her.

 

She waited, counting out the seconds to a full minute before she leaned back to peer from behind the pots.  Ra'kesh was heading North.  A cruel smirk broke across her face.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh examined every crevice and dark place as they passed, hand poised over his axe.  The sun had not cleared the horizon yet.  Some of the windows they passed flickered with firelight from early risers, but the street was empty.  The early morning mists and the lack of regular city noises created an ominous atmosphere.  Ra'kesh felt as though the houses rising around him were the blunted fingers of a giant hand which would close at any second and crush him.

 

That was probably the fatigue at work.

 

Saw-Them-Fall glided along beside the Khajiit, keeping to the darkest places that she could find.  She caught a distant whiff of Redguard that was familiar, but could not rule out that it was a neighbor.  If anything, she felt relieved.  This was the thing in her life that she best understood.

 

It would hurt, of course.  She would have to take the first attack in order to justify lethal force.  But she was prepared for that.  She had her potions, and she could get healing from her guildhall even if she was not asked back to the house where they had stayed.

 

They rounded a corner and there was Waduuya, sitting on an upturned barrel by the fish market several yards away.  The fishers rose early.  Some Dunmer were untying their boats from the posts that lined the river.  Others were already on their way down the canal.

 

Ra'kesh froze, locking eyes with the Argonian.  This altercation could not take place close to the river where the fishers would see it, and Saw-Them-Fall could not go into the open either.  He backed away into the street they had just come from.

 

“That was him,” Ra'kesh said under his breath when they were out of view.  He drew his axe and waited for Waduuya to round the corner, his every muscle still.

 

As Ra'kesh waited, looking at the corner in front of him, Saw-Them-Fall watched the roof above his head.  It was the direction she would have taken.  One hand rotated at the wrist, and sparks flew and faded as the daedric dagger slapped into her palm.  The alien heat of the thing was familiar and comforting, to the extent that comfort was a part of Saw-Them-Fall's world.

  
  


Waduuya moved with silent ease up the staircase, long black talons raised to avoid clicking against the ground.  He slithered to the edge of the roof and looked down on Ra'kesh, waiting for him like a fool.  The silver dagger was already in Waduuya's hands.  He vaulted feet-first from the roof, blade aimed to stab between neck and collarbone.  The ruffle of cloth drew Ra'kesh's attention skyward but it all happened too quickly for him to react.


	23. Chapter 23

Saw-Them-Fall caught a whiff of the other Argonian in the instant before he leapt.  She had a split second to decide whether to watch Ra'kesh be killed, or tarnish her honor by defending him when she was not herself directly attacked.

 

_ The path to the contract leads through this Khajiit.  Loss of the contract is a greater dishonor. _

 

She slid from the shadow and kicked Ra'kesh in the back of the knee with her clawless heel, twisting her upper body in a backhand slash at the airborne enemy.  The silver dagger cut through empty air as the Khajiit fell below the strike zone.  Saw-Them-Fall's daedric blade cut through cloth and scale and flesh as though they were scuttle, but the need to protect another body had hurt her aim.  She drew a great slash along Waduuya's chest and left shoulder instead of through the small scales of his throat.  His blood spattered hot across her cheek and shirt as she faded to one side.  He landed with a solid impact and an audible hiss, wounded but still on his feet, and she bent lithely away from another slash as he followed through.  She switched her grip with a flick of her fingers and then dropped to the ground on one hand and the toes of one foot as he tried to tap her with his claws, fingers glowing.

 

Ra'kesh pitched forward to land hard on one knee.  He was up before he could even understand what had happened and turned to see Saw-Them-Fall on the ground.  Waduuya had missed his swing but raised his dagger to strike the distorted mass below him.  Ra'kesh swung overhand; Waduuya crumpled with a scream, dragging Ra'kesh forward by the axe buried in the Argonian's back.

 

Boots pounding on stone behind him.  Ra'kesh turned.  A woman clad in Dreugh armor rounded the corner Waduuya should have come from.  Recognition dawned on his face.   _ Esmera _ .  She did not hesitate, charging him with ebony sword flashing.

 

Saw-Them-Fall buried her dagger in Waduuya's eye socket and left it there in the demisecond before she kipped onto her feet.  She was relieved to see the woman charging.  It made things so much simpler.  She stepped directly between her and Ra'kesh as she snapped the finger-claws of her left hand.  A daedric hand-axe dropped into her grip and she immediately tossed it backward underhand to the Khajiit.

 

Her right hand closed and opened as she channeled power through her body to form her sanctuary.  Her body blurred and dimmed, becoming even harder to see than by the chameleon spell alone, and she stepped forward inside the Redguard's reach as the sword flashed down past her left shoulder.  She twitched her chin up to bash the woman's chin with her forehead, then was hurled backward as the human jerked a knee up into her belly by feel alone.  Sky and buildings whirled around her.  Saw-Them-Fall tucked and rolled, reinflating her lungs with disciplined force as she came to her feet again, tail out-thrust for balance.  The morning air reeked of blood and sweat, raising the little scales along her spine.

 

a'kesh released the weapon in Waduuya's back to catch the glowing hot axe.  It was significantly heavy compared to the other but would be easier to control than his sword.  Esmera had stopped, eyes flicking between Ra'kesh and the barely visible figure in front of her.

 

The front door of a house creaked open, then slammed shut quickly.

 

Esmera edged toward Saw-Them-Fall, moving away from Ra'kesh on her right and watching the distortions intently for any sign of movement.  Ra'kesh charged her.  Her blade slashed across his chest before he was even in range, flames bursting from the point of contact.  The stench of singed flesh and fur filled the air.  Her shield raised in the same moment to protect against the blow that must inevitably come from his concealed ally.

 

Saw-Them-Fall dove past the Redguard, nostrils scissored shut against the horrifying stink.  She rolled to her feet again well past the zone protected by the shield and snapped a kick at the woman's unprotected skull.  The Redguard hunched her shoulder, taking the blow on a pauldron, and Saw-Them-Fall was forced to somersault backward to avoid the flaming sword again.

 

Ra'kesh staggered back, face slack in shock.  The fire had cauterized the wound in the center, but blood still oozed from the corners.  Esmera turned from him while he fumbled at his pouch.  She had a few seconds to deal with the other one.

 

She stalked forward, keeping the shield between them.  It was difficult to judge how close her opponent was, but she couldn't afford to wait.  Esmera chanced a jab at most likely location of the enemy's head.

 

Ra'kesh pulled out a potion.  Green-dot.  He let it clatter to the ground.  The next was the red-marked bottle he sought.  The searing pain pulsed in his chest while everything else around him moved in slow motion.  His claw popped the cork and the vial was at his lips.  The pain finally ebbed as the burned flesh turned pink and healthy before knitting together.

 

The flaming sword scored the top of Saw-Them-Fall's shoulder as she twisted away.  It drew a line of white-hot agony as it melted the scales at the edges of the wound, burning away fabric as if it had never been.  Saw-Them-Fall was aware of the pain as a fact, but did not let it touch her.  It was not a new companion, and it would not be their last meeting.

 

Peripherally she was aware of the Khajiit fumbling for potions.  He was done with the weapon for now, and she had need of it.  She snapped her fingers again, and the axe puffed into sparks and reappeared in her own hand just in time to clang against the flaming blade as it cut at her neck.  The Redguard was no fool and had very good track of her enemy's height and size now.  Even flaming ebony could not break daedric steel, but Saw-Them-Fall was not as strong as the larger Redguard.  She was forced to break contact as she did a side-handspring to get out of reach.

 

Esmera growled low in her throat, surging forward with a side swipe to catch the Argonian before she was out of range.

 

This time the flaming blade scraped what felt like miles down Saw-Them-Fall’s left side, raining cinders of burnt cloth, flesh and scale down on the cobbles.  She had the presence of mind to bat it away with the axe before any real sensation registered beyond a feeling of hot and cold.  Then she was on one knee, trying to keep her grip on the axe as agony roared belatedly up and down her nerves.

 

Ra'kesh's head was clear of the pain now.  The axe poofing from his hand had been startling, but there was no time to think.  He drew the shortsword from its metal scabbard with a long  _ shnnk _ and rushed Esmera from behind, both hands on the hilt, sword raised so he could use the weight of it to slash down.

 

Esmera heard the unsheathing and whirled after her strike, catching Ra'kesh's blade with her own in a shower of sparks.  She easily threw him off.  He stumbled back, off-balance.

 

_ Get up, get up, get up!  _ Saw-Them-Fall berated herself silently.  Sparks were flying as the Redguard blocked Ra'kesh's shortsword.  She rotated her right hand sharply, and the axe vanished as the dagger reappeared.  Saw-Them-Fall threw the blade underhand, aiming for the Redguard's eye.

 

The blade penetrated her eye with a wet  _ squelch _ .  Esmera screamed louder than Ra'kesh had ever heard any person or animal scream in his entire life and the screaming continued for the next several seconds.  She backed away quickly from them both, blood pouring down her face.  She managed not to drop her sword but held it at a useless angle.

 

It must have stuck at the wrong angle, hung up on the woman's eye socket.  Saw-Them-Fall had never been heard to curse, and did not now.  Her magicka was running low, and she had to deliberately control her breathing to ward off shock; going cold-and-slow would kill her even when her wound was very survivable.  An assassin's work was the long stalk and the quick kill, not this messy fighting in the street.

 

“Away.  The guards,” Saw-Them-Fall hissed at Ra'kesh.  She popped a vial from her belt and downed it even as she watched her hand fade into view, both spells wearing off at nearly the same time.  The pain backed off but did not end as the wound only partially healed.  New nerves screamed as they were exposed to the air, and she bared her teeth as she ran for the alley behind the nearest house.  It would not be a long run to the Orc's.  She could hug the shadows until then.

 

He watched her run with clenched teeth.   _ No! She cannot be left alive! _ He stepped forward with sword raised to finish the job himself.

 

“Come on you piece of shit!” Esmera snarled, raising her sword as well.  His ear cocked to the side.

 

_ On second thought.. _

 

He dashed away down the street.  Esmera lurched off in the opposite direction.  Ra'kesh hurriedly unlocked the door and ducked inside after the short run, leaving it ajar for Saw-Them-Fall.

 

Saw-Them-Fall darted up from the alley, whirled in the door, and shoved it shut behind her.

 

“Lock it,” she snapped at Ra'kesh.  Breath hissed between her teeth.  She leaned on the wall when it was over, still fighting spots in the sides of her vision –  _ Discipline.  You are strong.  Be that strength.   _ She had two more potions, but now that she was out of immediate danger she dared not use them.  She had done wrong.

 

“I acknowledge my sin,” she said softly.  “I have transgressed the honor of the Tong by attacking without writ and without a direct threat to my own life.  I accept my penance before the Spinner.” She genuflected with her free hand, a movement as if gathering a bundle of threads against her chest.

 

It had only been a few minutes.  Upstairs, Kala slept on, blissfully unaware.

 

Ra’kesh followed her order with a raised brow.  This was easily the most emotional Ra'kesh had ever seen the small Argonian, but everyone had their breaking point, and that battle had been particularly ugly.  Esmera's agonized scream echoed still in his mind.

 

Ra'kesh had a few thoughts about her “Tong honor.” To him, defending a friend was not dishonorable.  That was the problem with Daedra worshipers.  Most of them held twisted logic because their gods were not of this world and did not think like creatures of Nirni.

 

But she had sacrificed her ideals to help him.  He felt no small measure of guilt at this.

 

“Here, last one,” he said, holding out the final red-dot after a respectful silence, after her prayer.

 

Saw-Them-Fall raised her head.  She looked at him and at the potion, a prey to confusing emotions.   _ Last one? For the blade-bearing stranger whom he tolerates only as a matter of imminent threat? What is this? _

 

“I thank you,” she said softly.  “But I may not.  That would violate the conditions of my penance as well.”

 

Something was wrong, Kala thought dimly.  There were voices downstairs, but they sounded urgent, tense, and the door had slammed.  That wasn't like Ra'kesh of late.  She pulled herself up out of sleep, squinting into the surprisingly bright morning – if it was still morning.  She had no idea how long she had slept.  She felt better, anyway.  This sleeping every other day idea was terrible, she decided, and she renounced it forthwith.  She had not had the nightmares about the Altmer that she had so greatly feared.  Perhaps she was past that now.

 

She got up and changed her clothes as fast as she could, putting on a dark gray robe over her tan linens.  She went to call downstairs as she tied her hair back in a loose tail.

 

“Ra'kesh? Are you all right?”

 

He retracted the potion with confused sadness.  Scales were missing from her left side, exposing raw flesh.  It had to be painful.

 

“Well then.  Ra'kesh will give the information he has promised.” He sighed, steeling himself, and walked to the kitchen to pour water for both of them.  Now he was going to betray his principles...  but the whole thing seemed much more palatable now than it had the other day.  “The man you seek is Augustus Hodge, an Imperial with brown fur and straight nose.  He has two homes in Vivec- one in St.  Olms, which he rarely visits, and in Foreign Quarter which is used as base of operations.  He drinks often in the Black Shalk.”

 

He returned to hand a glass of water to the Argonian.

 

“Khajiit hopes this information is sufficient.” His attention shifted to Kala's voice from upstairs.  “Yes, he is fine.  Saw-Them-Fall is..  well, alive, yes.” His red shirt gaped where it had been slashed, the edges darkly stained.  There was a little patch of pink skin on his chest where the fur had burned away.  The potion healed Ra'kesh perfectly, but it wouldn't grow new hairs.

 

“Thank you,” said Saw-Them-Fall.  “I'm sure that it will be.” She accepted the glass of water, resting her other hand on the counter.  Drinking without casting up her accounts seemed an insurmountable task.   _ Discipline.   _ She sipped carefully, muzzle in the glass; it was a hard-won skill of many years' acquiring.

 

Kala's head jerked up at the Khajiit’s tone.  She tightened her hair thong once more and went quickly down the stairs.

 

“What happened?” Her eyes found Ra'kesh first, eagerly searching for injuries, and she was already on her way toward him with one hand out when she realized she was looking at new skin and not a fresh wound.  She stopped on the other side of the counter, huffing through her nostrils as her stomach flip-flopped in desperate relief.

 

“Well, that's it for another shirt.” Her eyes traveled to the Argonian, whose shirt was in, if anything, worse shape, and whose left side was a nightmare of scaleless, skinless damp pink.  The contrast was the more startling against the dark gray scales.  She was calmly drinking from a water goblet as if nothing were wrong.  “Hold still, I can heal that.”

 

Saw-Them-Fall lifted a hand.  “Please do not.  I have taken a wound while attacking without direct provocation to myself.  It must heal in the natural term as a penance to Mephala.”

 

Kala stared at her.  “You're not serious.” She looked back at Ra'kesh, brows knit.

 

Ra'kesh looked at Saw-Them-Fall grimly.

 

“Burns do not heal nicely.  The skin will pull tight and may interfere with your range of motion.  Please reconsider before the scars become permanent.” He could not bear to know she let herself become maimed for life because of him.  He tried to think of some loophole that could let her be healed, but Ra'kesh didn't know her beliefs well enough.

 

The Argonian set her jaw, leaning her elbows on the countertop.  She did not look at either of them.  She was already planning how best to get back to the guildhall for a new shirt without drawing attention.  She had no power left with which to hide herself.  “There is not flexibility in these matters.”

 

“Wait… This is religious.  Right.” Kala rubbed the bridge of her nose.  “Has there really never been a time when you had to defend yourself or someone else? Mephala's a deity of conspiracy and convolution.  There's got to be a way around that.”

 

“Not often, and in those cases the injuries of my penance were lesser,” said Saw-Them-Fall.  “They healed relatively quickly.  It's only chance that makes this time different.”

 

“What would happen if someone healed you against your will?” Kala asked.  She edged around them to go to the cupboard, looking for another goblet.  Her mouth was dry.  “Say, while you were sleeping? Would you have to cut yourself or something?”

 

“Pff, no.  Self-mutilation is not our way.  But who would do such a thing as that? To carry a wound of penance is a sign of shame and weakness.  My brothers and sisters would show that weakness the lack of respect that it deserves, even those who know how to heal.”

 

“This is a strange faith that you practice, Saw-Them-Fall.” She had a drink, revolving things in her mind.  The Argonian didn't seem to be paying her much mind.  Probably she was concentrating on not passing out from the pain.

 

“It is the way I have chosen.”

 

Kala turned and clapped a hand on the Argonian's shoulder.  The fingers glowed green as she applied a powerful fatigue drain.  She had had the spell for ages, but occasions for using it were few, as with most of the touch-range spells in her arsenal.

 

“Ra'kesh, catch her, please?”

 

Saw-Them-Fall was just setting down the goblet again when she felt the Orc's fingers grab hold, and as she whirled to bat Kala's hand away her knees suddenly gave out, exhaustion washing over her.  She slumped, still conscious but quite helpless.

 

Ra'kesh sipped his own water, cocking an ear at Kala's question.  He wondered if Saw-Them-Fall would be angry if Kala intervened against her wishes.  Perhaps it was a dirty thing to do, and perhaps it would cause more guilt than living with the scars.  But she herself had explained that the rules of her honor were..  flexible.

 

His cup dashed against the floor when the Argonian sagged.  Ra'kesh caught her by the shoulders and dragged her back, gingerly lowering her into a seat.  Her limp tail was trapped underneath her.  He steadied her body with a hand on one shoulder so she wouldn't topple out of the chair.

 

“Grabbing a highly trained assassin was not smart,” he said.

 

“It sure wasn't.” She knelt in front of the chair, reaching out to lay her hand on the wound.  Her fingers glowed gently blue.  The light sank in and spread out, and the wound began to dry up and fill in.  “But she didn't try to keep me in view when I got behind her.  I think she was about a hair away from passing out.” The healing stopped, leaving dark, leathery flesh but no scales.  Kala applied the spell again.  Sometimes systemics like poison were easier to heal than definite, specific damage.  She watched with satisfaction as scales began to sprout from the edges inward.

 

“Anyway, we both know that's not the stupidest thing you've seen me do.”

 

Saw-Them-Fall lay in a fog, listening to their voices as if through cotton wool.  This situation ought to terrify her.  She had been completely at the mercy of another person perhaps twice in her entire career, and in both cases she had barely survived.  Yet she felt no fear.  The pain was fading rapidly as the Orc healed her, and the Khajiit's handling of her was careful, not as one would treat a body to be disposed of.  She had leisure to try to decide what sort of people these were, and was contemplating that very thing when she heard Kala say,

 

“I'm sorry, Saw-Them-Fall.  The fatigue drain will wear off in about twenty more seconds, if you're worried about that.”

 

There was a knock at the door, three sharp raps.

 

“ _ Drozha! _ ” Ra’kesh’s ears snapped towards the sound.  He hauled Saw-Them-Fall's body straight in the chair so she would not topple over.  “This may be the time to inform Kala there was one other pursuer besides the Argonian, and she lived.  The fight took place in the street.  Surely there are witnesses.”

 

He spoke quickly and quietly, pulling away out of sight of the window.

 

“Waduuya struck first.  Our defense was legal.  Wait for friend to awaken before opening that, just in case.  Dunmer are irrational louts who may foist the blame on us.”

 

“Leave her.  It'll add verisimilitude,” Kala said.  “Actually, take your axe out and put it on the counter, too.” Ra'kesh's experience with guards and the Legion was very different from hers.  She had lived a life completely without fear of law enforcement in general and Dunmer in particular.  

“He left his axe in Waduuya's back.” Ra’kesh winced, remembering a perfectly good poison cure had been left behind as well.  

 

Kala pushed her sleeves up and brushed at her hair to make it look more frazzled – that wasn’t hard, she hadn't had much time to do anything with it this morning – and marched over to yank the door open.

 

“I hope you're doing something about this,” Kala snapped at the pair of Hlaalu guards who stood there in their bonemold armor.

 

“We've had a complaint of – what?” said the man on the left, whose larger pauldrons indicated higher rank.  Kala believed she recognized his voice.

 

“My friends were attacked in the street on their way to the market.  Ra'kesh had to practically carry Saw-Them-Fall home for me to heal them.  They're lucky they both made it, the state they were in!” She gesticulated angrily as she talked, gesturing toward the Khajiit and the Argonian in their torn clothing.

 

Ra'kesh stared at Kala in shock when she lit into the guard but quickly fell in line.  He stooped in front of the Argonian, gently patting her scaled cheek as if trying to revive her.

 

_ She is going to have some nasty words for the two of us when this is finished _ , he thought dryly, watching Kala's grand performance from the corner of his eye.

 

“There was a Redguard woman with the Argonian male.  Did she get away?” he asked, glancing up from his patient.

 

“Yes, we think so,” said the higher-ranking guard.  “There was blood, but there was only the one body.” Beside him, the other man craned his neck to peer around Kala at the other two.  “So you ran away in order to bring your friend here for healing? Normally we would call that suspicious behavior, but the witnesses say you were definitely attacked first.” The words  _ especially suspicious from a couple of betmer  _ went unsaid.

 

Saw-Them-Fall was incredulous and, she admitted, impressed as she felt strength start to bleed back into her limbs.  This was far more convoluted than she expected of either of them.  It also did not cast a positive light on her prowess in combat but, on the other hand, most of the guards currently did not recognize her as a member of the Tong.  It could only improve her usual low profile.  She produced a theatrical groan, laying a hand over her forehead.

 

“Ah, she is waking.” Ra'kesh stepped back and peered down at the Argonian with concern.  “She should be fine with some rest, thanks to Kala's quick healing.” He turned back to Kala and the guards, looking at them from a lowered head, ears held back meekly.

 

“Will guards accompany Ra'kesh to the body so he may fetch his weapon? The Redguard may still be around.” He found it more likely she was either dead in an alley or far away by now.  It might be for the best.  If they captured her alive, Esmera might try to turn some of the blame on Ra'kesh.

 

“Of course,” the higher ranked guard responded, stepping to the side to allow Ra'kesh through.  He nodded towards Kala.  “We will get a full description of the attacker from your friend here and corroborate his story with the other witnesses.  You have our word that the matter will be investigated thoroughly.  What are your names?”

 

Kala gave her name in full, and Saw-Them-Fall gave both her unpronounceable Marsh name and her usual sobriquet as well, continuing to act weak and disoriented until the door was firmly shut behind the guards and Ra'kesh.  

 

Then she stood up, freeing her tail from its position trapped under her with a little shake.

 

“I acknowledge that this was clever,” she said, dragging the chair over to put it back.  “I feel that I was too easily outwitted.”

 

“Then don't make it necessary for me to try again,” Kala said.  “I don't want my throat cut.”

 

“It is extremely unlikely.  Why did you do it?” She turned to look at the Orc, hands resting on the counter.  She felt fine, perhaps a little tired, but her confusion was undiminished.

 

“Because Ra'kesh was right, and I didn't want to see you suffer for defending him and yourself.  He's important to me.”

 

“Yes, I know.  It is hard to deceive an Argonian's nose.  Does  _ he _ know?” asked Saw-Them-Fall.

 

“That I consider him a friend?” Kala said blandly.  “Oh surely, by now.  We've been through a lot together these past couple of weeks.” She went to pick up Ra'kesh's dropped goblet and wash it in the sink.  She was aware of green eyes following her movement.

 

“That is not what I meant at all,” said the Argonian.  “Life is brief and full of bitter trouble.  You will not be worse off for having been honest with your friend.  It is not my business, and I will say no more; but give it consideration, Kala gra-Nend.”

 

“Have you ever loved someone, Saw-Them-Fall?” Kala asked, drying the goblet.  The Argonian laughed.

 

“I am spared that fate, thank Mephala.  To love is to bare your throat every moment,” she said frankly.  She had read her share of books in her short life.  None of them made love sound much less than fatal.

 

“How old are you, anyway?”

 

“Old,” said Saw-Them-Fall, outer eyelids narrowed from the bottom in amusement.  “This is a question you must not ask.”

 

“I'm twenty-nine, if that helps.”

 

“It does not help, but thank you.  I think that Ra'kesh is returning.” She caught the faint scent of the Khajiit under the door in the moment before he came in.

  
  


Ra'kesh gave his own name truthfully.  He described Esmera and a play by play of the events as best he could remember as they walked.  Of course, he left out the part about Saw-Them-Fall being concealed from the start.  A third guard waited at the end of the street, interviewing a plainly dressed Dunmer on the step of the house directly across from Waduuya's corpse.  The witness eyed Ra'kesh from a stony mask before pulling the door shut.

 

Waduuya lay with his chin on the ground and arms outstretched beside him, blood pooling around his head from the destroyed eyeball.  The Daedric dagger had fled to its own plane, leaving his socket a garbled mess.  The silver dagger lay nearby.  Ra'kesh pulled the axe from his back and wiped the bloodied edge on a clean section of Waduuya's own shirt, then picked up the bottles he had dropped.

 

“What about his weapon?” Ra'kesh asked.

 

“That's evidence.” A guard replied harshly.

 

“We might need to come back later to clarify some details,” said another.  “Don't leave town.”

 

“Of course,” Ra'kesh said politely.  He thanked them and returned to the house with one last glance at Waduuya before they prepared to carry the body away.

 

“That went well,” Ra'kesh grinned, closing the front door behind him.  He set the empty potion bottle on the table.

 

“Of course it went well,” Kala told him primly.  “We are law-abiding citizens with nothing to hide.”

 

Ra'kesh joined his friends in the kitchen, springing on his toes and swaying his tail in a flamboyant swagger.  He leaned against the counter beside Kala.

 

“Hm, Kala is still alive.  Saw-Them-Fall forgives the trickery?” Anguish suddenly replaced the amused smile.  He slapped the heel of his palm to his forehead.  “Augh! Ra'kesh has thought of something awful...” He waited for their concerned eyes to snap to him.  “Saw-Them-Fall had stabbed Esmera - the Redguard - in the eye.  This one missed a golden opportunity to tell her 'we shall be keeping an eye out for you.' He will never get this chance again.”

 

Ra'kesh shook his head sadly.

 

Both women stared at him.  Then Kala reached over and poked him hard in the ribs, well away from the line of his recent injury.

 

“I hope you are very ashamed,” she said sternly.  “That was a terrible, terrible joke.” Her lips quivered as she tried to preserve a disapproving glare.

 

“All trickery is approved of the Spinner,” said Saw-Them-Fall.  “I will point out that I am allowed to accept more than one contract at a time, Kala.  If you would like him killed for that.”

 

“Tempting, but no.  The Fighters Guild might wonder where he went.”

 

“Mm.  Well, I am bound for Vivec as soon as I have been to my guildhall to change.  I still do not understand either of you in the slightest, but I have enjoyed your company.” She bowed deeply to them both, shredded shirt fluttering.

 

Ra'kesh squirmed away from the poke and laughed heartily at the following comments.  The brush with death had left him feeling hyper alert and energized.  It was a joy to be alive.

 

“Thank you again, friend Saw-Them-Fall.  Ra'kesh owes his life to you; this he will not forget.  He wishes you luck with your venture in Vivec,” he said seriously, returning the bow.  Ra'kesh doubted very much she would need any luck.  It was Augustus he pitied.

 

“Goodbye, Saw-Them-Fall,” Kala said.  The door shut softly behind the Argonian, and after a moment the magical lock clicked.

 

Ra’kesh waited until she had gone and said to Kala, softly, “He must thank and apologize to you as well.  Ra'kesh has endangered his dear friend, and the danger is not over still.”

 

Kala touched Ra'kesh's arm briefly, looking up at the pink streak across his chest where the wound had been.  “She can't get in here that easily.  If she tries to cut the door down it'll poison her, and if she comes after us together we can kill her.” She was less than fully convinced of that second one if Ra'kesh and a trained assassin had failed, but she kept that to herself.  There had been two enemies the last time.  Two against one was no odds, and now she had her new spell.

 

The new spell.  She felt it more strongly than she had felt the poison, lightning at her fingertips, lightning in her bones.  She itched to use it.  She was afraid to try it.

 

He had said  _ his dear friend.   _ She blushed dark under the green as she thought of what Saw-Them-Fall had said.  But she could not know how things really were; and their position with regard to one another was still such that she felt that to tell him how she felt must put him in an impossible situation.

 

“Anyway, you don't owe me an apology,” she said, swallowing against a dry throat as she turned to go and dig in her knapsack for her alchemy sacks.  “The past is a country we can never visit, and nothing that goes on there can be changed.  My father used to say that.”


	24. Chapter 24

_ We can't stay behind these walls forever, nor can we have each others backs at every hour, _ Ra’kesh thought, but didn't voice these concerns.  She was trying to be optimistic, which he appreciated, but Kala was intelligent enough to know reality.

 

“You have become quite the convincing actor,” he said, changing the subject back to a more light-hearted topic, a mischievous gleam in his eye.  “You could give up the alchemy and join an acting troupe.  Ra'kesh will even play the music.” He leaned against the counter and watched her move.  Ra'kesh felt as though he could boil over with emotion.  He wanted to grab Kala and twirl her around, laughing with joy that they were both alive and safe.  He shook away the thought and pushed off from the counter.

 

“Thanks.” She grinned up at him.  “I felt real conviction.  It irritates me that people can just try to assassinate you when there are ostensibly guards to prevent that very thing.”

 

He was doing a different thing with his ears again.  She wasn't sure what it meant.

 

“Maybe he should get to work on his assignment while the day is young.  Are you going collecting?”

 

“That depends,” she sai.  “Where is your assignment? I'm thinking it might be a good idea not to split up today.  You know.  Until we know what happened to Esmera.”

 

Ra'kesh laughed sharply, turning his head away from her.  He puffed out his chest in a parody of a heroic pose.

 

“He was entrusted with a highly prestigious and serious task! Ra'kesh must destroy an infestation of rats in the sewer.” He looked back to see her reaction to this.

 

“Oh dear,” she said, lips quivering around her tusks as she tried to preserve an expression of dismay.  “Well, I understand that you might want to keep such an important job to yourself, but many hands make light work.  Right? And I understand I can collect mushrooms down there that I would have to travel all the way to the Bitter Coast to get otherwise.”

 

It would stink, but if he was able to stand that with his sensitive nose, it would certainly be bearable to an Orc.  Probably her nostrils would be stunned after the first couple of minutes anyway.

 

“When we're done we can always go walk downstream and have a wash in the river before we come home to the bath, get the worst of it off the clothes.”

 

He considered this for a moment.

 

“Hm, true.  A swim would be pleasant.  We can bring home a rat for dinner, too,” he said with no trace of humor whatsoever.  He would worry about her all day if Kala weren't with him, and the sewer was the last place Esmera would ever think to look for them.

 

“Ra'kesh is ready now, unless Kala wants breakfast first.  He knows of one sewer entrance in High Town, but there must be one nearby.”

 

“I'd better, I'm starving.  I'll hurry.” She shoved the collecting bags into her belt and went to sandwich the last of the slaughterfish in between slices of scuttle-smeared bread, holding the whole in a bit of the oiled paper that had wrapped the fish.  Weight loss was all very well, but thirty hours of no food was skirting folly.  “Did you eat? There's an entrance down the river-stairs about a block away.  The fishermen throw bones and garbage down there.”

 

“Ra'kesh was awake most of the night.  He ate out of boredom not long ago,” he explained.  “Oh, lovely.  Fish guts go well with blood stains.” There was no sense changing out of his shirt now, torn as it was.

 

He sat with Kala while she ate her sandwich and then they were off.  The stones where Waduuya's body had lain were wet with blood.  Ra'kesh wondered whose job it was to clean that up or whether it would be done at all.  Maybe the responsibility ought to be his.

 

Kala stared at the blood as they passed.  There seemed a lot of it.  This was what happened when she let the Khajiit out of her sight, he got himself into the kind of trouble that would color the street until the next rain.

 

The river was much busier now.  Tables presenting the first catches of the day were manned by a variety of races.  Fruit sellers and other merchants taking advantage of the traffic had rolled up their carts and called at passersby to have a look.  Khajiit and Orc weaved through the crowd and down the stairs that lead to the river.

 

The trapdoor to the sewer was set in the landing, a worn wooden door stained with old blood.  Ra'kesh pulled on the circular iron handle and recoiled immediately at the fishy stench that hit his face.  A Dunmer fisherwoman who was docked nearby, hauling a net full of thrashing longfins onto the platform, laughed at his reaction.

 

Kala squinted as the smell hit her as well.  “Well, that's… piquant...” She grinned sheepishly at the fisherwoman and waved.  “Is there a ladder?”

 

“Yes.” Ra’kesh let the door  _ clang _ open and turned to lower himself down.  There was a slimy rope ladder and a large pile of refuse at the bottom of it.   _ Throwing this crap right in front of the ladder has to be illegal.   _ He tried to jump past the pile but didn't totally clear it.  Rotted fish guts squelched beneath his toes.

 

The sewer was a narrow canal bordered by a walkway on either side.  There were no sources of light other than the hatch currently open.  He was glad Kala had come after all - even a Khajiit cannot see in complete darkness.  Ra'kesh moved away from the revolting pile and wiped his foot on the ground.

 

“Be careful.  It is hard not to step in this stuff,” he called up after her.

 

Sound echoed in this place.  Water  _ plip-plipped _ and tiny claws scraped against stone.  He heard a distant squeak.  Yes, there were rats.  Probably feeding off the garbage.

 

“Okay,” Kala called down after him.  She went more slowly than he had, knowing herself to be much less agile than the Khajiit.  Her boots landed in fish guts anyway.  She was glad she had worn the sturdy leather ones she'd bought for her expedition.  Her feet were still dry.  “Gods, I was hoping I'd get used to the smell faster than this.” It was awful, the mixed odors of fish, garbage and excrement clotting the air to form an ordure worse than she had ever smelled.  “I truly pity a Khajiit down here.”

 

She draw a hand across her eyes to start up her Night-Eye spell.  Once she stepped out of the light shaft from the trapdoor, it was nearly pitch-dark.  There were glowing mushrooms rightly enough – big, healthy ones, this was obviously a perfect environment for violet coprinus – but they did not give off enough light to watch where she was stepping.

 

A narrow walkway proceeded up each side of the central channel of dreck.  It was frequently piled with refuse as well.

 

“How do we prove you've killed them? Ears, tails?”

 

“Eydis Fire-Eye asked for twenty tails,” he said, nearly choking on the stench.  Ra'kesh hated opening his mouth around awful odors.  He fancied he could taste it.  “Do you have a light spell?”

 

The canal lead to an intersection that branched in four directions.  The sounds seemed to be coming mostly from the right, so Ra'kesh turned this way, drawing the shortsword.  He had to adjust to its weight at some point and rats were easy enemies for practice.

 

The walkway was large enough that they could walk side-by-side, and the canal was twice as wide.  Thin, arching bridges to the opposite side were infrequent.  The ground beneath them was slick with what must have been rat urine, based on the acrid smell.

 

“Illusion is my worst school, but yes,” Kala said.  She pointed at the ceiling ahead of them.  It began to suddenly glow with a weak green light, revealing more of their surroundings.  Many eyes gave back the glow from far ahead, all suddenly fixed on the two interlopers.

 

“Ra'kesh,” Kala whispered.  “Some of those are bigger than a scrib.  Are you sure you only need twenty?”

 

He snorted.

 

“We are getting out of here as soon as twenty are killed whether or not more remain.”

 

Angry squeaks echoed in the tunnel.  Six mangy brown rats came charging from the shadows.  Kala was right.  They were huge, easily twice the size of a scrib with terribly long fangs that glinted in the sickly green light.  Ra'kesh slashed at the first to arrive, sending it flying into the filthy water with the force of his blow.  The ploosh echoed loudly.   _ Well, that tail is gone forever.   _ Ra'kesh would not have stepped into that fetid water to retrieve King Helseth’s crown.

 

Kala gathered her hand into a fist and thrust it out toward the others, aiming for a point ten feet from Ra'kesh's big foot-paws.  Poison shot from her palm and exploded into a cloud of venomous green, luminous in the light of her earlier spell.  The three rats that were furthest back screamed and writhed, falling dead.  One rolled into the channel after the first.  The one survivor charged them, screeching.

 

Ra'kesh slashed at another, bringing his sword down from above to avoid knocking it into the water this time.  It was dead instantly.  Another rat lunged at his exposed ankle, so Ra'kesh did the only thing he could do: he punted it.  The creature peeped in shock as it rolled off the walkway into the water.  The sound would have been cute coming from any other animal.  Based on the scratching in the distance Ra'kesh surmised that others had heard the commotion and were on their way.  He stabbed down at the last rat, pinning it to the ground with the blade.  It screamed as it died.

 

Kala cast her poison spell at the darkness just beyond the edge of the light spell.  There were screams.  They were not mer, or orcish, or human; they ratcheted up and down the nerves like fingernails on a horn book.  She must have killed a half-dozen of the creatures, but more still ran out of the darkness, scrambling over the bodies of the fallen to hurl themselves at… Interlopers? Fresh meat? Who knew? Some were obviously diseased, purulent wounds streaking their sides.  Ra'kesh cut at them as they came near.  His movements were more powerful and certain than the first time that she had seen him fight, muscle rolling under the fur on his arms.

 

Her lightning spell seemed like useless overkill on something like this, but she could no more completely forgo it than she could hold her breath for an hour.  She chose one rat a few yards away, one among the scampering horde, and balled up her right fist, then thrust her hand outward with the index and smallest fingers extended.  Lightning juddered from her fingertips, lighting up the tunnel for yards around, revealing an incredible pile of refuse crawling with rats far ahead of them.  It curved in from either direction and struck.

 

The rat exploded, showering its fellows in blood and reeking guts.  Some of them ran on.  Some stopped to eat.

 

Ra'kesh jerked away from the awesome, blinding light.  He'd never seen such powerful destruction magic in all his years.  His eyes recovered just in time to see the bloody splatter raining down.

 

In the end they had killed well over twenty rats, but a good number were lost to the water.  As they advanced the sounds of battle would attract more of the vermin and they had no choice but to push through.  The broken bodies of their brethren strewn about didn't seem to deter the rats in the slightest.

 

Ra'kesh was panting when he realized he could hear no more scrabbling claws.  The water lapped against the walkway; there were several living rats swimming down there.  They couldn't pull themselves over the ledge and were too stupid to climb out via the stairs at the end of every corridor.  They posed no threat so Ra'kesh left them.

 

Ra'kesh sheathed the bloody sword and set to chopping off tails with the axe.  He avoided touching the obviously diseased rats, although none of them were clean.  Maybe they would forego the rat stew he'd been planning.

 

“That was quite a spell you used back there,” he said, adding another tail to a collecting bag borrowed from Kala.  The long, leathery appendages were caked with dirt and excrement that he loathed to touch.  “That was the new one, yes?”

 

Kala was breathing hard as well.  She had used more magicka than she had thought she possessed.  Probably more than she  _ had  _ possessed last month.  She paused to down a blue dot potion from her belt before answering him.  Power bubbled up from within like a fountain.  It was a giddy feeling, even down here in the rot and the stench.  She could see why there were alchemists that would move into a daedric ruin just for the sake of getting enough ingredients.

 

“That was the new one,” Kala confirmed.  “And six for me.” She squatted next to him and began cutting off tails with her belt knife.  She had a collecting bag over her free hand.  She didn't want to touch the things, either.  Her nose seemed wrinkled into a permanent new shape, but she did not hesitate.  “Try not to get blood in your mouth or eyes or in a cut.  I can cure common diseases, but we'll have to go to the Imperial Cult shrine if one of us catches a blight.” The idea of going to the Temple did not at first occur to her.  She had a Divine Intervention ring, and the priests of the Tribunal were not as kind or sympathetic as the living gods themselves were rumored to be.

 

“I think it will have proved worth it.  I never thought I would have to bother with Destruction spells, do you know that? The health drain and the close ones were good enough for casual thieves and the odd handsy drunken lout.” She cut another tail and tossed it into her bag.  “Seven.  And even those I only bought because I let Estirdalin talk me into it.  I thought, oh no, I'm an alchemist and a scholar, why do I need a spell that can kill that quickly? It's irresponsible.  I might kill someone by accident.  Eight.”

 

Ra'kesh sniggered at the thought of Kala zapping a drunken fool.  He would like to go drinking with her just to see that.

 

“He is much less concerned about Esmera.  If you had been present earlier the fight might have ended in less than a minute.”

 

Ra'kesh held his head away as far as he could while chopping the ropy tails.  He couldn't wait to wash his hands and feet in the river.  Both were covered in blood, but putting his hands anywhere near his face was the last thing Ra'kesh would ever do.

 

“That's enough,” he announced after both of them had reached ten.  “Shall we stay and collect mushrooms now?” He grinned, thinking he might know the answer to that already.

 

“Ugh,” she said, standing up quickly with the sack in her hand.  “I think at this point I'd  _ rather  _ take a trip to the Bitter Coast than stay down here longer.” She cast another Light back toward the way they had came.  It stuck to a wall.

 

“With Redguards it's usually hitting them at all that's more of a problem.  Is she an unarmored fighter? Some sort of mage? What were the burns from?” The pattern of them on Saw-Them-Fall's side had been odd, now she thought of it, and the mark on Ra'kesh's chest had looked like a cut from a blade, not any sort of spell.

 

“She was armored in Dreugh and the burns were from an enchanted ebony sword.  Ra'kesh is pretty sure she knows no magic, or she would have healed herself when Saw-Them-Fall threw the dagger in her eye.” But she had to have potions on her person.  No warrior was stupid enough to travel without them.

 

He stood back from the rope ladder and gestured for Kala to go up first.  He hopped on the ladder after she had cleared the hole at the top, managing to avoid the garbage this time.  In pulling himself up, Ra'kesh realized how sore the muscles of his arms and back were.

 

He hauled himself out of the hole, gasping in the fresh air from outside.  The stink of garbage and rot still wafted from the sewers but it was nothing compared to actually being in it.  Ra'kesh slammed the door shut behind himself.

 

“That makes it a little easier.  To enchant against shock with lasting effectiveness is very expensive no matter the value of the armor, so she probably hasn't had it done.” She waited for him out on the street, breathing in the air of Balmora.  The odor of fish from the boats was nothing by comparison to the reek from below.  It was homey, comforting by comparison.

 

“Let's walk out to the river.  I want this dreck off my feet, and you have naked paws.”

 

The guard on the river-gate leaned away as they went past.  It was already a warm morning, and the smell propagated with astonishing rapidity.  The water downstream from Balmora was a bit cloudy, but it was a perfume of the Aedra compared to the sewer.  Kala headed down-slope and waded in gladly.  A few people were here washing more durable clothes, for when it was outdoor work-garb and laundries were too expensive.  Most of them were low-income Dunmer.  Families that could afford servants could afford a pump and mangle for their yard.  Several women gave the Orc and the Khajiit a curious glance, but they were busy beyond any desire to complain.

 

The Odai was pleasantly cool.  Ra'kesh waded in up to his thighs, digging his claws into the pebbly mud.  He wasn't very squeamish about stepping in things, having never worn boots or shoes in his life, but he didn't normally walk around in a hive of diseased vermin either.  The muscles in his back protested when he stooped to rinse off his hands.

 

“Thanks for coming.  Khajiit would have been swarmed by those rats alone,” he said.  “And probably end up with twelve diseases.”

 

Ra'kesh thought of Saw-Them-Fall.  Was she in Vivec by now? He made a mental note to stop by the guildhall in a few days and ask for her.  He had to know if Augustus would still be a problem or not.  More importantly, he wanted to check that their ascetic friend was all right.

 

“Well, thank you for letting me come along.  At least now I know I can get the mushrooms down there if I get really desperate.  Blgh.” Kala's robe floated up around her as she pushed it down into the water, watching darker streaks float away from her boots and hems.  The smell was starting to fade as it was diluted by the water, thankfully.  “I'm going to write my mother a letter, and then I'm going picking for the rest of the day, I think.  Before we split up again we should go get you a big stack of shirts.  Obviously one or two are not enough.” She sounded amused.

 

Tomorrow she would have to try and spend some time on her monogram while ingredients were drying and so forth.  She wasn't making the sort of progress she wanted.  Things just kept… happening.   _ I need the ingredients to make more potions.  I need the potions before I go and see Veridael, because who knows how he will react? I need to go and see Veridael before I try to embark on any more Dwemer expeditions… _

 

_ I need to write my mother first of all.  Then things will be clearer. _

 

_ \---* _

 

Saw-Them-Fall was indeed in Vivec, just opening the door of the Black Shalk Corner Club.  She was clad in a common but pretty blue linen skirt and leggings and a gray blouse in a peasant style, belted at the waist to hold her small purse.  All of it was a little loose, the better to emphasize how small she was.

 

The Black Shalk was not a high-toned establishment, but neither was it openly a skooma den; the atmosphere was certainly bearable, the blue lamps not overly clouded by haze.  There were well-worn blue-gray rugs on the floor, probably once black.  Dunmer and a few other races leaned at the bar or conversed quietly at the scattered wooden tables.  One was a brother that she recognized, an Argonian in netch leather currently sipping from a pottery cup at a table in the corner.  There were blue blazes on the scales of his nose and feet; it was certainly Huleeya.  She did not acknowledge him, nor he her.  Neither knew if the other was presently on contract, and so each would respect the other's space until it was necessary to do otherwise.

 

She minced delicately over to the bar and waited patiently for the bartender to notice her.  He was a Dunmer of perhaps middle age, tribal scars around his eyes.

 

“What can I get you, Sera?” he asked, gruffly but politely enough.

 

“This one would like to hire a room for the night,” she said.  She had worked hard to get rid of her Marsh accent.  It was easy enough to get it back when it was needed.  “This poor one has heard your prices are very reasonable.”

 

“Sure.  You want food and drink? Leftovers from lunch, but very cheap.  Eat here and then take a bottle to your room if you like.”

 

“Yes, kind Serjo, you are very good.  This one will have sujamma.” She paid up and sat carefully on a bar stool, hitching her tail around behind her (the skirt was tailored to accommodate it, but a little awkwardly, as if homemade).  There she unobtrusively looked over the room as she ate her bread and scuttle.  Augustus Hodge should be easy to spot if he came in.  There were not so many Imperials in here.

 

It was still early when Augustus strode into the club flanked by a tall Nord and smaller Dunmer.  They were laughing uproariously at a joke the mer had just made, seemingly oblivious to the noise they were making.  A barmaid moved quickly to place a bottle of brandy and goblets on the table as soon as they had sat, at an empty table near the back wall.

 

The Imperial dressed as he usually did, in the puffy-sleeved satin and black gloves popular with the aristocracy and higher class merchants.  The only practical part of his outfit were a pair of leather boots and a glass dagger strapped to his thigh.  Augustus dressed unusually well for a patron of the Black Shalk, but he'd been coming to such places before he made his wealth and preferred this atmosphere over stuffy highbrow establishments.  There were not many of those in the Foreign Quarter, at any rate.

 

The Nord, Svognir, wore leather armor and a steel mace at his side.  His eyes were deep set and framed by thick, untamed eyebrows.  Braids that hung by his ears and again at the back of his head brought order to an otherwise wild blonde mane.  His beard was better kept than the rest of his hair.  Svognir revealed several missing teeth when he grinned, which was often.

 

The elf was young by Dunmer standards, but years of bearing the harsh sun and ash storms of Western Vvardenfell had aged his skin further than the rest of his body.  The elegant downward curve of his bonemold pauldrons marked him as Redoran.  The rest of his armor was concealed beneath layers of cloak and robe, red and brown and fringed with tassels that matched his fiery cascade of hair.  Eldil Tervayn was a visiting friend, not an employee, but Augustus had asked him along in light of the vacancies in his usual cohort.  He carried a silver claymore across his back.

 

“Sure are a lot of lizards in here,” Eldil announced loudly, wrinkling his nose.

 

“Oh, come on.  Augustus and I are foreigners but you can share a drink with us, can't you?” Svognir said roughly.

 

“Yes, but you both stink just as bad.” All three laughed again.  It seemed as if they'd already had a few drinks before arriving.

 

Across the room, Huleeya paid them no mind at all, continuing to sip his drink.  Saw-Them-Fall looked that way from her position at the bar, then away again, as if afraid.  Then she looked again, green eyes wide, as if she couldn't believe what she had just heard.

 

It was likely she would not hit him with one dagger throw from the bar.  The bodyguard might well have time to interpose his armored bulk, and honor demanded that she not harm anyone by accident.  She would have to find a way to get closer.

 

The bartender was blandly polishing glasses, aggressively failing to hear anything.

  
  


The three continued their lively conversation while Augustus poured brandy for them all.  Eldil complained about the Cyrodilic drink and his companions ribbed him for this also.

 

“Say, isn't there going to be a fight later?” Svognir asked after the first bottle was finished.  His words were drawn out and slightly slurred.

 

“Yes, Pemphigus of Greenheart will be in the Arena.  I don't know who he is facing.” Augustus said.  He sounded much more alert than his Nord companion, despite stereotypes to the contrary.  Eldil scoffed loudly.

 

“As amusing as it would be to watch a Bosmer get run in, I'd rather spend my gold on a fight that will take more than ten minutes.”

 

“Such a judgmental man!” Augustus wagged a gloved finger at the elf.  “Pemphigus is undefeated champion this month.  He toys with his opponents and always puts on a good show.  I think we should go.”

 

Svognir pounded the table with his fist in a fit of excitement.

 

“Hear, hear! And will we be taking bets?”

 

“Let's worry about that when we find out who he's fighting,” Augustus said diplomatically, rising from his chair.  He tossed down coin to pay for the drink and a little extra.  They filed out of the room, Augustus in the lead and Svognir taking the rear.

 

Saw-Them-Fall finished eating as they talked, then quietly nudged her bottle of sujamma over to a Dunmer who looked to be already half-drunk, swaying on his stool.  The man squinted at her, then shrugged and hooked the bottle over to himself.  She slid down from her bar stool and padded after the three men once they were out of sight through the door.  Huleeya glanced up from his corner, watching her go.  She walked outside in quite an ordinary way, then stepped suddenly to her left against the wall.

 

The club was situated near the canton exit, so her target and his friends did not spend long inside.  Traffic on the outer walkway was light, allowing the three men to walk more or less side by side while continuing their conversation.  Svognir kept Augustus in the middle of the formation.  The Imperial gave a friendly wave to a golden-masked guard just before they descended the darkened tunnel that lead to the lower level.

 

She must not let them reach the Arena.  Panicking the public was antithetical to the way of both the Spinner and the Tong, deeply ingrained as anything she had ever known.  Saw-Them-Fall followed them into the tunnel with practiced nonchalance, nodding to the guard with big scared eyes, like a peasant on her first trip to the big city.  Once in the shadow she immediately cast her Chameleon and Sanctuary spells, right hand twisting to summon her little blade.  She could see the three men outlined against the light below, the Imperial in the middle, very identifiable between the Redoran-pauldroned Dunmer and the taller Nord with his braided hair.

 

Saw-Them-Fall ran lightly up to close the distance between them, bare feet nearly silent on the hard floor; by the time the Dunmer heard the slap-slap of her feet she was already throwing the dagger at the soft spot on the back of the Imperial's skull.

 

Augustus died instantly as his spinal cord was severed.  The body crumpled, skull smacking against the pavement.  Svognir turned and stared stupidly at the distorted shape that moved away from them as he tried to blink away the fuzziness he assumed was due to inebriation.  He looked back at his deceased boss, mouth gaping in disbelief.  Eldil was quicker to respond.

 

“Stop! Guard!” His cloak billowed after him as he moved to pursue the Chameleoned assassin.

 

The golden-helmed Ordinator was already running down the tunnel from above, sword in hand.  Saw-Them-Fall backed up against the wall, reaching into her pocket to pull out the contract as she clicked her tongue twice.  Her one small Light spell sprang up around her, revealing her form dimly through the spells that were still in effect, but the shape of the parchment roll was clear enough as she held it up.

 

“His death was lawful and under contract.  I am a Sister of the Morag Tong.”

 

“We'll see about that,” growled the guard.  “Throw me that writ.”

 

She tossed it gently underhand.  He snapped it out of the air one-handed, without sheathing his sword, and proceeded to thumb the tie off the parchment to read it.

 

Svognir drew his mace and charged towards the figure against the wall.  Eldil stepped between them, catching the Nord's wrist in his hand.

 

“Let go!” he snarled.

 

“If you touch her, she will kill you too and the law will be on her side.  Calm down!” Eldil hissed.  Svognir bashed his forehead against the Dunmer's own and roughly shoved the stunned mer aside, wrenching his arm free.

 

The guard spun on Svognir, knocking the short mace from his uncoordinated hand with ease before pinning the tip of his blade against the man's armored shoulder.  Eldil had fallen against the wall; he picked himself up and grabbed the Nord's arms from behind.

 

“The death was lawful,” the guard announced after another glance down at the paper.  Svognir roared his rage, jerking against the hands that held him.

 

“Get out of here,” the guard said to Saw-Them-Fall, jerking his chin at her from over his shoulder.

 

Saw-Them-Fall watched the Nord coolly, balanced on the balls of her feet.  She knew herself to be in the right.  There would be no penance, no hesitation, no sleepless night.  She was a little disappointed when the guard and the Redoran stopped him.  Still, she knew her place in the world, and this was it.  She bowed politely to the guard and turned and walked swiftly away down the ramp, listening to the Nord trying to get free behind her.  At no point had her face been visible enough to be recognized as anything but generically Argonian.  Her sanctuary was still active.

 

It would be a long strider ride back to the Balmora guildhall, but she would not rest until she had reported in and received her payment.  That was part of the natural order of things as well.

 

She was relieved.  Things had gone very strangely in Balmora before, with the Khajiit and the Orc and the entire mess.  Now the world was right again.

 

\---

 

Kala's letter home went like this:

 

_ Dear Mama, _

 

_ I just wanted to write and let you know that I finally went on that expedition I planned.  I did something very wrong, and I know it; but you must know because of what happened afterward.  I needed someone to carry my things, and I didn't want to ask you for money to hire a bearer (you know we agreed I would make my own way).  So I bought a slave in Tel Aruhn. _

 

_ He was in miserable enough shape when I bought him, and I felt awful from the moment that I did it, but he proved to be a strong and loyal friend in my travels.  He has risked his life to save us both many times. _

 

_ I ended up freeing him, and it is the best thing I have done since we met.  He still stays with me as he has just joined the Fighters Guild and well, you were right, I do feel safer with a trustworthy person in the house. _

 

_ The other reason I'm writing is about money.  We encountered some bandits on the expedition and were forced to defend ourselves.  None of them survived, but they had some valuable things, and now we have some gold put away at the bank.  Ra'kesh asked me to keep his half for him because he does not trust himself with such an amount (he is not an educated man, but he is both wise and practical).  So I want you to know that if anything should happen to me, and Ra'kesh should survive, you and Papa are the inheritors of those funds.  Please provide for him from his 10,000 drakes, or if he asks, give them to him directly.  I know I can depend on you. _

 

_ I'm not expecting anything dire to happen, but these last weeks have brought home to me how dangerous a place this world truly is.  You and Papa were right all along, and I wish I had listened to you sooner.  The upside is that I am becoming a much better Destructionist than I ever was before, and I have claimed the birthright of Mauloch (I know that we prefer not to call it that, but there's not really a good Imperial Cult term other than the simplest and crudest one).  I'm writing a monogram about the expedition, so hopefully it will bear academic fruit as well. _

 

_ By all means, write me and let me know how you all are. _

 

_ Love, _

 

_ Kala gra-Nend, her hand and sign. _

 

 

**_The Story Continues in Part 2: Freed_ **


End file.
